


True Mates

by asarcasticwitch



Series: There Must Be Something In The Water [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asthma, BAMF Stiles, Beta Derek Hale, Biting, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, But is Eighteen at the End, Character Death, Come Eating, Coming In Pants, Derek Hale Has Panic Attacks, Derek Has Issues, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Full Shift Werewolves, Good Alpha Peter Hale, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Loss of Control, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Minor Character Death, Nipple Play, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, POV Third Person, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Hale Ships Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Rutting, Scent Kink, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski is Sixteen Years Old, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Top Derek Hale, True Mates, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, Wall Sex, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolf Mates, Wolfed Out Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 73,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: True mates. Every werewolf has one, but many go years before finding theirs or, more often than not, they never find them at all.It's somewhat equivalent to the human term soul mates, albeit slightly more complex.Nothing’s ever simple in the world of the supernatural.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I have no idea where I'm going with this, to be honest. I woke up this morning with a plan, and everything just flowed out at once, so I'm just going to roll with it!
> 
> One thing I do want to mention right off the bat is that Stiles starts off as sixteen and is seventeen when anything sexual happens between him and Derek. I've added the underage tag purely for the consideration of those whose country's age of consent is eighteen. For me, this relationship wouldn't be classed as underage as sixteen is the age of consent in Scotland, so this isn't an issue for me. I just wanted to give people fair warning in case their laws or beliefs are different from mine. If this bothers you, just don't read, or you can skip to the very last chapter where Stiles is eighteen.
> 
> As I will say in all my fics, please don't expect magic with regards to the writing standard, I'm not a professional, I'm just having fun. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this; comments and kudos are always appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mate is a gift from Mother Moon herself—or so Laura always told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun little drinking game; take a shot every time you come across the words 'true mate'—gold star to anyone who's still standing after paragraph three, lmao. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy these first two chapters, even if they are a little repetitive and mainly just an info dump!

True mates. Every werewolf has one, but many go years before finding theirs or, more often than not, they never find them at all.

It's somewhat equivalent to the human term _soul mates_, albeit slightly more complex.

Nothing’s ever simple in the world of the supernatural.

A mate is a gift from Mother Moon herself—or so Laura always told him. She believed discovering your true mate to be the single most spectacular miracle known to wolf kind. Many would agree.

She was a romantic at heart, always seeking out the fantastical and fluffy in every scenario—not that she'd ever have admitted it.

True mates appear as wolves, witches, druids and, on rare occasions, even humans.

Finding out your fated partner is also a wolf is somewhat like winning the lottery. While it’s not as unique as getting all your numbers to match up, the prize is of the same calibre. As wolves, you're both on the same page regarding instinct, ritual and tradition, as well as both of you having at least a little knowledge regarding what the whole phenomenon entails.

Magic wielders and humans are a bit more of a pain in the ass.

A wolf will never discriminate the race of their mate. They’ve more than likely been lectured most of their lives on the absolute privilege it is to actually find one, no matter who or what they are. It's not really in their nature to be picky about it. But it’s still widely known within the supernatural world that non-wolves—humans especially—can be a bit more challenging to acknowledge as a life partner.

Humans are simple beings. Most only see what's directly in front of them; everything’s in black and white. If they can’t explain it or don’t fancy admitting there’s something out there which is—God’s forbid—different to their own beliefs, they don’t usually want to know.

Therein lies the obstacle.

Humans are so damn stubborn and trying to tell them that not only are you a werewolf, but you're also their mystical alternative to a soul mate, is like pulling teeth.

With witches and druids, they already know about the shadows that go bump in the night, so that’s not much of an issue. Most of them have expert knowledge on all there is to know about werewolves, so they are, at the very least, a bit more susceptible to listening to your explanation than humans. Considering they’re already aware you turn into a huge hairy beast under the full moon, nothing beyond that has much hope of surprising them.

Non-wolves all have one thing in common when it comes to mates, though. To put it plainly, they just don’t share the same instincts.

Witches, druids and humans do recognise the bond and have impulses the same as a werewolf, but only _after_ they’ve been claimed and mated.

Once the ritual is completed, all the wolf's protectiveness, possessiveness and pure adoration gets passed through an invisible cord along with every other heightened emotion. Basically, you'll be so in sync you’re barely one step away from reading each other’s minds.

Sadly, it’s the getting to the claimed and mated stage that’s the hard bit.

Trying to explain to a human that once mated, they'll be given such strong feelings and sensations through a non-existent wire that they’ll never even think about the possibility of being in a relationship with another ever again is a bit of a touchy subject.

Unlike with humans and their fickle emotions picking up and dropping off marriage after marriage with no care in the world, wolves don’t have that luxury. Wolves mate for life. It’s in their nature. As soon as that claiming bite is bestowed upon their mate’s neck, that’s it. No divorce, no cheating and definitely no_ ‘I think we should take a break and see other people'. _

Humans and the like aren’t always eager to commit to forever_, _even for the guarantee of unconditional love.

That hindrance aside, once claimed, the connection between true mates is immense. It's said to be the most intense feeling anyone can ever even hope of knowing. While being mated in general is a beautiful thing, being mated to your true mate is apparently otherworldly. A euphorically blissful tie to your one true love that only grows more and more in strength as the days go by.

Or so he's been told.

_Repeatedly. _

One detail the tomes and storybooks seem to falter the most on is the conception that once a wolf catches the scent of their true mate, they'll slowly deteriorate until they've made their claim or will somehow die of melancholy if they're rejected.

That’s complete bullshit.

While it is true that a wolf will be more protective and have the urge to be close to their mate once they’ve found them, they do still have every right not to pursue the individual if they so choose. Without having the fear of withering away to an empty husk looming over their head.

If the wolf has had the chance to get to know their intended or been in their presence for more than a brief moment, then yes, they'll pine for the loss of a _could have been_ bond, but with time and control, every were can get over it. Eventually.

A prime example of this scenario was a situation involving one of the Hale cousins several years ago.

Emily Hale had picked up the scent of her mate while in the grocery store. Derek always found it laughable how some wolves go their whole lives without even getting an idea of who their true mate may be but some manage to stumble across theirs while casually browsing the condiments aisle in the local Walmart.

_'Lucky bastards’ _as Laura would say.

Their belovedcousin had scoured the whole store following the sweet and sickly scent of pear drops and coconut before finally coming across the most beautiful human male she ever laid eyes on—her words.

As she retold the story to the family that same afternoon, she mentioned how she couldn’t believe her luck and had steeled her trembling excitement to approach the man. She planned on disguising her interest by asking for assistance, hopefully going from there.

She didn’t get that far.

As she’d gotten closer to the gentleman in question, she caught a glimpse of the name tag on his shirt and left the store pronto.

_‘What the hell did you do that for? You absolute moron!’ _Laura had screamed at her; clawed fingers curled tightly through her hair in frustration.

Emily had just scoffed exaggeratedly, examining her nails while replying with casual aloofness._ ‘His name was Bartholomew, Laura. How can you expect anyone to be ecstatic about screaming that amidst the throes of passion?’_

It’s safe to say Laura vowed never to entertain the idea of speaking to Emily again. Granted, it wasn’t their cousins most dignified hour but exhibit A is just one example of a wolf not pursuing the match that Mother Moon deemed appropriate.

Emily had felt no worse off for the whole debacle—apart from maybe the initial glimmer of sadness her wolf felt for rejecting the chance of a bond. Since she hadn’t actually managed to speak to the man, the symptoms had been relatively mild.

In fact, she’d mated several months later to a lovely man called Evan, and she assured them how the name just _‘rolls off the tongue’_.

Years later, Laura made Derek swear that he'd never be as shallow as their cousin, that he’ll stay impartial, not judge the book by its cover. Take the time to get to know them if the attraction isn’t there from the first encounter.

Apparently, Mother Moon is never wrong in her pairings, but if he doesn't fall helplessly in love with his match at first sight, then he had to promise to put the effort in himself.

Despite all his adolescent protestation, he made the promise.

He loved—_loves_—his sister dearly, and could never have denied her that one simple wish, especially with how her bright hazel eyes lit up every time she broached the subject.

While he believes he doesn’t deserve that kind of bond, she’d always been adamant that he deserves the world. Thus, he’d given in to her childlike fantasies and swore with all his heart to give it a chance if the moment ever presented itself.

~

Derek, unfortunately, remembers in vivid detail the solemn oath he’d made to his sister years previously while attempting to rationalise his present predicament.

He’s standing with his arms crossed firmly over his chest observing a gangly, flailing teen doing fuck knows what in the lacrosse field a few yards in front of him.

Mieczyslaw Stilinski—_beat that, Emily_—as Derek has just come to realise, is his destined.

This pale, hyper-active and generally vexatious _boy_ is whom Mother Moon believes to be Derek’s perfect match. The missing piece to his puzzle. His 'second self, and best earthly companion'.

His true mate.

"Well, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Second self, and best earthly companion' is a quote from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.
> 
> I couldn't resist having Derek's inner monologue being a little bit of a literary nerd. While he may appear a stoic grump on the outside, on the inside he's just silently comparing everyone against the standards he's read in historical romances. 
> 
> Thanks for reading—more to come soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few moments of undisturbed inner turmoil is granted to him before a sharp gust of wind brings his attention towards a familiar scent. It takes his brain a second to fully latch on to the pretentiously expensive aroma but as soon as it does his face pales. He's suddenly hit with the fierce urge deep in his gut to just run as far away as his legs will carry him. 
> 
> Here we fucking go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of all over the place, but its primary purpose is to give a glimpse into the background story. 
> 
> Also, I absolutely frickin' adore Peter Hale, he's a hero in my version of events. I had initially thought to make this a Steter fic, but it just didn't fit the same. So, instead, I've settled for just making him the badass Alpha that I believe he would be—he deserves it, okay. 
> 
> Let me know what you think so far in the comments; more on the way very soon!

After a fire destroyed the Hale family home when he was just sixteen years old, Derek fled Beacon Hills with his older sister Laura.

With the harsh scent of smoke clinging to their skin like an insistent cloud of torment, they left the site of harrowing devastation, vowing never to look back.

Or so they thought. 

Six years they struggled through their feeble attempt at a new life before Laura heard word that they weren’t the only two Hales who’d survived as they initially believed.

A letter she received from an unknown source detailed the whereabouts of their uncle Peter and younger sister Cora; the news was enough to bring them rushing back to Beacon Hills just over six months ago.

Unfortunately, due to their lack of preparation and impatience, Laura was killed by a rogue Alpha.

Amidst their grief and despair, he’d seen the opportunity to lure them back to Beacon, all for the glory of wiping out what was left of their family.

The Hales were known as the most prestigious pack in Beacon Hills, somewhat akin to werewolf royalty. While other packs resided or passed through Beacon, it was primarily their territory, their kingdom.

No doubt once the news got out that a fire had consumed their property as well as all—except two—of the Hale's along with it, other packs looked into taking advantage of their weakened state in hopes of owning the territory for themselves.

The rogue Alpha, surprisingly, had been honest about one thing. Their uncle Peter had still been in Beacon Hills for all those years, but up until Derek and Laura returned, he’d been lying comatose in the local hospital.

Due to the severity of his injuries along with the severing of the pack bonds, his healing had been blocked.

Peter mentioned that as soon as they crossed the border into Beacon County, he knew. He’d felt their presence, and that had been enough to kick start his advanced healing. His skin knitting back together, the burns wiping from his raw flesh, his mind finally coming back to the present once more.

Laura and Derek leaving felt no different from the withering of all the other ties. Had they stayed, their remaining bonds would've helped him recover, but moving so far away left him to suffer through the agonising pain alone for all those years.

He never blamed them for leaving, said it was the safest option, especially with Laura's new and untrained power. The Alpha spark would've been akin to a target, her youth and inexperience easy prey for anyone ambitious enough to break the treaties and raise a rebellion. Still, even with their uncle's assurances, they couldn’t help the unwavering guilt quelling any flicker of relief or hope.

Once they managed to sneak a miraculously healed—previously comatose—burn victim out of the hospital, the three of them hiked back to the old Hale house only to be greeted by the deranged Alpha.

He’d caught them off-guard, felling Laura before any of them had the chance to realise they weren’t alone.

Her Alpha spark was lost in the fray, the very moment his claws ripped out her throat it whittled into thin air. It should have automatically passed onto Derek, him being Laura’s eldest heir, but for some unknown reason—a reason they are yet to figure out—it hadn’t.

Between the two of them, they managed to rip the rogue apart. They used his weakened state from the lack of pack bonds to their advantage. Derek underestimated—more _forgotten_—how ferocious Peter can be when defending his family, despite his fragility he outwitted the lone wolf, allowing him the killing blow which left him as the new Hale Alpha.

Peter is strong; he always was. Though she never would’ve admitted it, Talia couldn’t have run the pack without him. He was her younger brother, her only sibling, and they fought like cat and dog most days, but they would've died for each other.

She used to call him the _‘blue-eyed Alpha’ _'cause he sure as hell always acted like one. He never undermined Talia’s rule and was never bitter about his sister being the leader as most second-born children usually are, but he knew his worth and made sure everyone else did too.

Peter would've done absolutely anything to protect the pack, even if it meant questioning his sister's judgement from time to time. She argued with him 'til she was red in the face, but she respected him as her enforcer, her left hand and knew his only interest was keeping their family secure.

Talia would've agreed with Derek that Peter is more than worthy of the title. She would've wanted Derek to be safe above all else, and under the circumstances, Peter is both their best chances for surviving, for _living_.

Even with the Hale pack’s untimely demise; Beacon Hills is still exclusively their territory. Peter assures Derek that now they’ve returned to their family lands, they'll most likely be bombarded with problems at every turn. Still, Peter is nothing if not confident in his abilities, and he's sure they’ll overcome any issues presented to them.

There’s also the issue still hanging over their heads of the rogue Alphas letter, which stated Cora being alive and somewhere in Beacon Hills. Peter believes there's some truth in the words, but her exact whereabouts is a little vaguer than his own had been. Neither of them has yet received any more word of the validity of the information, but they won’t stop until they can confidently confirm or deny the rumour.

In the last six months, Peter has been working tirelessly to reach out to surrounding packs to re-establish the treaties they’d signed back when Talia was Alpha. It came with some minor glitches but nothing the two of them couldn’t handle.

It turns out most of the packs still hold the Hales in high regard and are thrilled to have them back in Beacon _‘where they belong’. _

A few had been doubtful that two wolves could successfully run the once most prestigious pack known to wolf kind and bring it back to its former glory. Peter, however, has assured them that once everything’s settled down, and they've taken adequate time to mourn their losses, the Hale pack will rise up to the strongest it has ever been.

~

A few weeks ago, Peter put into motion the rebuilding of their family home.

They'd been renting a property in the middle of town—the Loft, they call it_—_in the meantime, just somewhere for them to stay until the renovations have been completed. Still, Derek often gets restless in their temporary lodgings, his wolf itching to run free across the acres and acres of preserve surrounding their old home.

Most days he finds himself taking the trek back out to the Hale lands, if only to reminisce.

He finds it absolutely rib-tickling that he’s managed to wander back and forth quite contentedly for the last six months without discovering his true mate lives in the same town.

Someone must be seriously laughing at him right now.

All it had taken was the split-second decision to use the shortcut to the Hale house on this particular afternoon and _bam,_ here he is frozen in place at the edge of a lacrosse field watching five teenagers doing… whatever it is they're doing.

Under normal circumstances, he’d be worried about an onlooker catching a glimpse of him and thinking the worst. A twenty-two-year-old, leather jacket-clad man lurking on the sidelines, gazing intently at a bunch of minors is probably frowned upon in polite society.

However, he doesn’t class this as a _normal circumstances_ situation. While it may not yet be dark enough for him to successfully hide from everyone’s viewpoint, he’s hidden enough away that he knows the teens will never notice him.

Plus, it’s not as if he means any ill intent, he’s just utterly dumbfounded which is unhelpfully glueing him to the spot.

Although no one knows his real intentions for being here, he doesn’t rightly care. He’s not overly sure he could pull himself away from staring into space while he wonders why the Gods think it prudent to fuck him in the ass at every turn even if he tried.

A few moments of undisturbed inner turmoil is granted to him before a sharp gust of wind brings his attention towards a familiar scent. It takes his brain a second to fully latch on to the pretentiously expensive aroma but as soon as it does his face pales. He's suddenly hit with the fierce urge deep in his gut to just run as far away as his legs will carry him. 

_Here we fucking go. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes snap open, bringing his thoughts back from the blissful void.
> 
> It takes him a few seconds to realise that he’s alone; his uncle no longer in the vicinity.
> 
> The teens are also gone. There’s no sign of anyone or anything within his advanced hearings’ radius.
> 
> How long has he been in a trance? Has anyone walked past him? When did Stiles’ laughter stop being real and start being pure imagination?
> 
> “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is purely just speech between Derek and Peter—Peter's sass and just general smartassery is the kind of shit I live for! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this!

Derek knows his face must be conveying a thousand words if the shit-eating grin Peter's aiming in his direction is anything to go by.

“If the wind were to change, my dear nephew, your face would, unfortunately, stay like that.”

He doesn’t move from his position, nor does he turn his head to acknowledge the man who is now prowling—no other word for it—towards him. He keeps his arms folded across his chest, his shoulders squared, and his gaze forward as he speaks—tone void of all emotion. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” Peter chirps airily, his voice oozing faux innocence. “I’m just curious.”

Derek juts out his chin for his uncle to continue, keeping his expression impassive.

“I’m curious as to why you’ve been staring at that group of teenagers for the past...” Long dramatic pause as he glances at his watch. “Seventeen minutes?”

Derek lets out a slow breath.

Of course, his uncle just happens to be mulling around in the exact same place at the exact same time Derek’s wolf is having a meltdown. He must’ve been too focused on current events to notice the man lurking in the shadows, watching him for anything he could use as teasing fodder.

Dignifying his uncle with a response would be pointless. Peter is intelligent, a complete and utter narcissistic smartass, but still extremely intelligent. He knows Derek better than he knows himself.

It's creepy.

“It’s one of them, isn’t it?" Peter deduces casually. "You’ve finally found your-”

“Yes,” Derek doesn’t let him finish. He's nowhere close to ready to accept any of this yet, he can do without Peter saying it out loud.

“Oh, my dear nephew, I believe congratulations are in order," Peter mocks, not even bothering to hide his amusement. "You know, finding a true mate is an honour that few wolves manage in their lifetime.” 

“So I’ve heard.” Derek’s aiming for nonchalance, but his rapid heartbeat and the sweat clinging to his brow is no doubt betraying him.

“Pray tell, nephew mine, which one of these lucky humans is your intended?”

“Piss off, Peter.”

“Oh, don’t be like that," his uncle snorts. "I’ve only your best interests at heart.”

At the man’s words, Derek turns his head comically slow, one of his eyebrows crooking incredulously.

Peter is sporting the most wolfish grin Derek has ever seen on the man; it’s like his teeth are the only thing holding back his laughter.

Derek huffs, turning back to look at the group in front of them just in time to catch the boy in question and all four of his flailing limbs hitting the ground with an outlandish squawk. He rolls his eyes, lids closing as he tilts his head to the heavens to pray for strength. A groan leaving his throat before he can stop it.

_Fuck._

Peter throws his head back and—honest to the Gods—_barks_ out a laugh. “This. Is. Priceless!” he shouts between bouts of breathless roaring, not even caring that his voice goes up a few octaves and is loud enough to travel across the entire field.

The man eventually manages to reign himself in long enough to allow his next words to leave his throat, albeit there's still humour ringing from every syllable. “_Sheriff_ Stilinski’s spasmodic, sixteen-year-old son, is your true mate?” Another laugh and he even has the gall to cry big fat tears of pure mirth. “_Stiles_ _Stilinksi?_" he emphasises the name as if it's the punchline to the funniest joke. "This is gold. Mother Moon, I need a minute.”

“I’m so glad my shit-show of a life brings you such humour, uncle.” Derek glares at him, jaw clenching to keep his shift at bay.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Derek. I’m a simple man. You know how much I enjoy revelling in others misfortunes.” Peter wipes at his cheeks to dry off the remnants of wetness. He takes up a similar stance to Derek and casts his gaze to the teen in question, examining him a little too meticulously for Derek’s tastes. 

“Even those of your family?”

Peter’s smirk is doubly playful now. “Especially so.”

After a few much needed seconds of silence, Derek’s hardened exterior crumbles. His shoulders slumping, hands combing through his hair before finally turning full-bodied to face his uncle. “What if he doesn’t even like men?”

“That’s your biggest concern?" Peter drawls incredulously. "Honestly, nephew?” At Derek’s blank but questioning expression, he heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Well, in that case, you seem to seriously underestimate the power of Hale sex appeal.”

Derek groans. “Fuck sake, Peter, it’s not that simple. I can’t just force him to change his sexuality.”

Peter flinches, actually looking offended at his words. “No one said anything about _force_, dear nephew; we're not savages. But there’s nothing wrong with a little gentle _persuasion_.” His predatory smirk is back, but this time it’s accompanied by a not so subtle wink. “Besides, aren’t you forgetting that true mates are destined by Mother Moon herself?” he continues. “Do you honestly think she would make the mistake of pairing you with someone who doesn’t enjoy a good sword fight?”

Derek’s eyes roll to the back of his head, his nostrils flaring in his impatience. “Do you hear yourself talk sometimes?” he grits through his teeth. “It’s honestly disturbing. No one talks like that.”

“Oh, lighten up." Peter nudges him with his shoulder. "It’s not the end of the world. I mean you did promise your sister that you'd give your mate a chance, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to _actually_ claim him.”

Derek resumes his previous bodyguard-esque stance. His eyes automatically landing on the young boy once again, ignoring his uncle for now.

The silent treatment lasts for all of three seconds.

“Why don’t you just get to know him and see where it goes?” Peter supplies noncommittedly.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say?!” Derek turns sharply, barely managing to hold back his annoyance. “Oh hey, Stiles, you don’t know me but let me tell you a few things. First up, I’m a werewolf, ha, ain’t that the revelation of the century? And secondly, you’re my soul mate. Surprise and congratu-fucking-lations! Say goodbye to the life you know because you’re stuck with me forever. Oh, and don’t tell your father—y’ know the _Sheriff—_'cause he'll probably shoot me, please and fucking thank you!”

His uncles shocked expression at his unrestrained gesturing snaps Derek out of his manic ranting. He clears his throat, straightening his posture once again, attempting to downplay his frantic outburst. He steels his jaw before any more words spill from his lips—only_ after_ praising the Gods for the lack of supernatural colour in his eyes.

It wouldn’t do to give his uncle any inclination that he's genuinely shitting bricks.

_Too late for that now_, the voice in his head supplies.

“Wow, I have to say, that's the most I've heard you speak in one breath. It makes a change to your eyebrows answering my questions.”

As if on command, Derek raises an indignant brow towards his uncle. This particular angle means in no uncertain terms _go fuck yourself_.

“Maybe you and this mate of yours are more alike than you think if that outburst is anything to go by.”

“Peter, if you're not going to supply anything useful, then leave me in peace.” Derek is seriously nearing the end of his already short supply of patience.

“All I’m saying is that it may not be as bad as you think. I mean he may be a bit... _flamboyant,”_ It sounds like Peter had to fight an uphill battle to come up with the least offensive describing word. “But it would take a fool not to realise that he’s extremely easy on the eyes.”

Derek isn’t exactly sure in what moment he went from resembling a Madame Tussauds waxworks to his fangs being mere centimetres from his uncle’s face, a clawed hand wrapped around the man’s throat, squeezing with intent. And apparently, snarling?

He’s definitely snarling.

“Nephew, calm yourself before someone sees you.” Peter shows no hint of fear, only a gentle authority as if scolding a disobedient child. He holds up his hands, palms facing Derek in a placating gesture.

Derek can see his uncle’s mouth move but can’t hear the words; it's as if he's underwater. All he can focus on is the deafening mantra of _protectmate_ and _killcompetition, _his surroundings fading with every heaving breath.

“Oh, for the love of…” Peter’s eyes flash scarlet snapping Derek instantly out of his current state, instinct forcing him to obey his Alphas wordless command.

The hand from around Peter’s throat retracts as if burned, his claws and fangs subconsciously reverting back to human. “Shit, Peter, I-" Derek mumbles, his head tilting submissively on impulse. "I don’t know what- What just happened?”

Peter massages his throat; the tiny claw-shaped gashes already beginning to heal. “I’ll tell you what happened; your wolf has already attached itself to their mate.”

The man almost sounds impressed.

“I don’t understand?”

“What was your wolf telling you to do just then?”

“To… protect my mate.”

“Yes, and what else?” Peter knows the answer to his own question; of course, he does, he knows everything.

“Kill the competition,” Derek answers honestly, lowering his voice to a reluctant grimace, instantly ashamed of the admittance.

“Precisely,” Peter chirps. “Your wolf got jealous with the mention of your mate being _‘easy on the eyes’_; it believed me to be portraying interest. So, naturally, it jumped on the defensive.”

“Peter, how can you be so calm?" Derek snaps, unable to fathom how the man can be so cavalier about just having a set of claws around his throat. "I could have really hurt you!”

His uncle doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow and shoots Derek a look that says _really, nephew?_

Cocky bastard.

“Fine,” Derek sighs. “I wouldn’t have managed to hurt you, but that’s not the point. I didn’t even realise what was happening; I couldn’t control it.”

Peter twists to face him, placing one hand gently on the scruff of his neck, a calming gesture from an Alpha to his beta.

Derek drops his head forward, closing his eyes as he melts into the touch.

“Nephew, calm down. Don’t worry about it. It’s not exactly ideal that your wolf’s attached itself so quickly, especially without having spoken to the boy but it’s still not the end of the world." Peter's thumb caresses the side of his neck, his voice softening further. "You’ve been through so much, Derek. It’s not at all surprising that your control has weakened slightly.”

Derek forces himself to lift his head. Looking into his uncle’s eyes, he sees nothing but genuine concern across his features.

“We can work on it,” Peter assures him, his expression gentle, a kind smile gracing his lips. He hasn’t moved his hand, still content with showering Derek in calming pheromones through their pack bond.

“Okay,” Derek agrees, almost inaudible as he basks in the serenity embracing his senses.

“Good boy.” Any other time that would've been condescending coming from Peter’s mouth but at this moment, it’s meant as genuine praise.

Derek would be lying if he said it didn't make him preen.

Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

A few moments of comfortable silence pass before Derek speaks again. Now feeling more at ease with the situation than earlier. “So, what do I do now?”

Peter lets his hand slip from Derek’s neck as he looks out at the teens once more. They're still dicking about on the lacrosse field, delightfully none the wiser regarding the debacle that's just occurred several yards away.

“I still stand by getting to know him," Peter offers. "Your wolf already agrees with Mother Moon’s choice, but _you_ need to allow yourself a chance to figure out if it’s something you want too. The only way that can happen is if you talk to him.”

“I’m not good with words," Derek grumbles. "I’d just end up making a tit of myself.”

Peter breathes out a laugh. “Oh, of that there is no doubt.” 

He may have just let loose his softer, more affectionate side, but he’s still a sarcastic asshole.

Derek just glares, but there’s no real heat behind it. He’s secretly glad that Peters opted to revert back to teasing, it’s easier to handle.

“But, you can at least try.”

Derek inclines his head in acknowledgement before letting his eyes wander over his mate once more; taking a moment to appreciate the boy’s complete and utter joy at just running around like a loon.

Hysterical and unabashed laughter echoes across the vast open space, sending an involuntary shiver up Derek’s spine. He lets his eyes fall closed, content with the syrupy smooth sound enveloping him in a warm caress. The gentle chuckling is somehow in perfect harmony with every beat of Derek’s heart; together, they're conducting a divinely euphoric symphony-

_Oh no._

His eyes snap open, bringing his thoughts back from the blissful void.

It takes him a few seconds to realise that he’s alone; his uncle no longer in the vicinity.

The teens are also gone. There’s no sign of anyone or anything within his advanced hearings’ radius.

How long has he been in a trance? Has anyone walked past him? When did Stiles’ laughter stop being real and start being pure imagination?

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek should've been keeping his distance. He should've been staying away until the time was right, but now it’s too late; the damage is done.
> 
> He's so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this will be hitting a climax at some point, but right now I'm just getting a feel for all the characters and kind of introducing the story, so please bear with me. 
> 
> Hopefully, you're enjoying it so far!

Derek hasn’t made any moves to introduce himself, as Peter suggested.

Mainly because it was _Peter_ who’d suggested it.

Although he's the perfect Alpha and would never do anything to fuck up Derek’s life completely, he's still an asshole. An asshole who—when he gets bored—likes to mess around with people for kicks.

Derek loves his uncle; he views him as a sort of father figure as well as his Alpha. However, that doesn’t mean Peter isn’t also the most infuriating person he's ever met.

The man has a penchant for causing mischief wherever he goes, making things go haywire then sauntering away from the chaos with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

So, forgive him if he’s a little reluctant to jump headfirst into some advice given to him by Satan in a v-neck. It might've been given in good faith, but Derek can’t be sure it won’t backfire at some point all for his uncle’s amusement.

The second reason he hasn’t already spoken to his mate is purely based on the fact that Stiles is only _sixteen_.

While Derek would never dream of mating and claiming anyone underage, he's still not comfortable talking to a minor with the knowledge that if things go well, it could all eventually get sexual. Granted, he’d only be introducing himself at the moment and maybe spending time with the youth, but it still feels a little slimy to him. Like he has an ulterior motive for talking with the boy while Stiles is utterly innocent to the whole ordeal.

It just doesn’t sit right.

Both points considered, he's made the executive decision to take all necessary precautions to keep his wolf in check until Stiles turns eighteen. He'll keep as much distance from the youth as he can possibly muster and while Beacon Hills is a small place, Derek's confident he'll have no trouble avoiding even catching a glimpse of Stiles if he sticks to Hale lands.

Easy.

It’s only a year and four months until Stiles turns eighteen—not that he's keeping track—and with school and friends to keep him occupied until then, what're the chances he’ll even accidentally happen upon Derek’s family territory?

_Slim chance_, Derek thinks.

He’ll just keep himself to the forest and outskirts of town, and hopefully, it'll all work out.

~

Well, that idea lasted all of four days.

Here Derek stands, just a few hundred yards from the burned-out ruins of the old Hale house, watching Stiles and some other boy wander aimlessly through the trees in the wee hours of the morning.

“Give me strength,” he breathes out to no one but himself, looking to the heavens for any sign of mercy.

Derek was minding his own business, just taking his usual late-night run through the woods when he’d caught a whiff of sweet, sickly candied apples and warm vanilla cookies which stopped him dead in his tracks.

He hadn’t the time to ponder on the source of the cloying scent before his wolf had taken the reigns. Next thing he knew, he was lurking in the shadows behind a fallen tree with his true mate mere feet in front of him—yet again.

Some poor souls never find their mate and here’s Derek, casually bumping into his twice in the same week. What gives?

Laura would've been ecstatic right now. More than likely she'd already have the teen sitting at their families dinner table, reciting every embarrassing story from Derek’s childhood. Knowing Laura, Stiles would now be privy to everything there is to know about werewolves, and he’d be an expert on true mates before Derek had the chance to offer refreshments.

Squaring his shoulders, he decides to throw caution to the wind, stepping out from the darkness, now standing in a spot gently illuminated by the moon. Even with every other inch of the forest enveloped in black shadow and the human’s lack of night vision, there's just enough light breaking through the trees above for his menacing silhouette to be visible.

“This is private property!”

A high pitched scream echoes through the preserve, followed by the signature flurry of limbs.

Derek’s eyes roll to the back of his skull though it lacks the normal heat the gesture usually entails, and if anyone were close enough to notice the small, fond curve pulling at the corner of his lips, he’d deny it.

“Woah dude, warn a guy,” Stiles is the one to talk first—_of course, he is_—but only after he’s managed to calm his breathing enough to get the words out. "Give someone a heart attack creeping about like that."

His voice is raspy, no doubt a symptom of the scream he just unleashed, but it’s still not what Derek expected. It’s lower than he imagined—not that he’s given it a second thought, _not at all_—and smooth like liquid gold but with a pitch to it that could be perceived as annoying.

To Derek, it’s almost endearing.

_Stop it._

“You're trespassing.”

“Sorry, erm… sir?” It’s the other boy who speaks this time—more _stutters_... pitifully. “W-we got lost an-and… We'll just turn around and go back the way we came. Come on, Stiles.” The timid teen turns around, jutting his head sharply to garner Stiles’ cooperation in leaving.

Derek had almost forgotten the other human's presence, too busy admiring the most enchanting amber-tinted eyes he’s ever seen. Golden rays that somehow manage to sparkle bright and unrelenting through the eerie darkness.

He can't help imagine how divine those eyes would look glazed with the sweet, delicious sobs of pleasure.

_What the fuck?_

“Wait. Wait a minute.” Stiles grabs onto his friend’s arm to pull him back, whispering though Derek can hear every word. “That’s... that’s Derek Hale. We could totally ask him if he knows anything.”

The fact his true mate knows his name—knows who he is, even—sends a spark through his entire body, igniting a fire that burns hot through his veins, from the top of his head to the very tip of his… _toes_.

Derek clears his throat, shaking his head as if to clear his mind of the impure fog clouding all the available space. “You shouldn’t be here. Leave. _Now,_” he barks, praying silently that the teens don’t pick up on how his voice is wavering.

“Yes, you’ve said that already- Wait, one second.” Stiles leaps closer with one hand outstretched, stopping Derek as he turns on his heel.

He had every intention of walking away—or running, more likely—and chaining himself up in the Hale house basement for the remaining year and four months until Stiles’ birthday comes and goes but alas, that’s not to be.

“Please.”

Derek hopes—nay _prays_—to all the Gods above that no one heard the pathetic whine that just escaped his throat. Although he can’t see for sure, he guesses his eyes have just flashed a surreal shade of blue. He can feel his gums itching as his fangs fight against his willpower to spring free and _claim_. His mate is practically begging him to stay. His wolf, no matter how strong, can’t deny that request.

With his back still turned away from the teens, he calls forth every deity he can remember the name of to give him enough strength to stop himself from launching at his mate and debauching him right here on the forest floor.

Stiles continues to speak—because that just doesn’t help Derek’s situation. “Mr Hale... erm, Derek... Just out of pure, innocent curiosity, do you know anything about a body… out here? Like, you know… a _dead_ one?”

Derek twists on the spot, face contorted in confusion. “What?” The word comes out harsher than intended, but his brain is taking a little longer than usual to catch up.

“Erm… well, we heard a rumour and just- I don’t know? We kinda wondered if it was true at all.” Stiles has stopped advancing, now seemingly content with the small amount of distance between them.

“Is that what you're doing out here? Looking for a body?” Derek asks dryly, not entirely sure he believes what he’s hearing. His control is slowly reigning itself back in now that he’s more focused on his mate’s reasoning for being here.

“Hm?” Stiles hums distractedly as if his mind has wandered away from the current conversation. Derek coughs to snap his attention back to the present. “Oh, no, no, definitely not. We would never intentionally go out in the middle of the night looking for dead things. Nope. Nah. Not at all. Right, Scottie?” Stiles glances over his shoulder to the quivering boy a little ways behind him.

The other teen, _‘Scottie’,_ doesn’t answer, just licks his lips, opening his mouth a few times as if he's all but lost the ability to speak. He reminds Derek of a rabbit caught in headlights. A bit gormless really.

Stiles sighs at his shell shocked friend and looks back at Derek who's now standing with his arms crossed over his chest with one eyebrow cocked incredulously.

“Okay, fine,” Stiles backtracks. “Yes, that’s why we're out here, but it’s honestly not as bad as it sounds. You see, my dad's the Sheriff, and I heard him talking-” Derek quirks another judgmental brow at him. “Okay, maybe I was eavesdropping on a phone call, but that doesn’t matter…”

The boy starts rambling with his signature wild gesturing and Derek sort of zones out. He's unsure where his eyes are expected to focus—on one of his two flailing arms or the dramatically expressional face.

“Stiles,” Scott whispers, voice too faint to interrupt his friend’s verbal diarrhoea.

Stiles continues, seemingly in a world of his own as he relays his tale. “...and he said something about a missing girl, and then the words _'jogger’_ and _‘dead body’_ got mixed in there somewhere…”

“Stiles.” It’s clear Scott is trying to stop Stiles from rambling, but his voice isn't projecting enough volume to take effect. That and the fact he still looks utterly frozen to the spot while staring wide-eyed and terrified at Derek.

He finds it slightly amusing how terrified this boy is of him and he's not even showing fang.

Derek ends up just glaring in Stiles’ general direction instead of focusing on one singular part of him; he’s giving himself a headache with how fast his eyes are trying to keep up with every movement. He’s only now aware that his eyebrows are almost at his hairline, a subconscious reaction to hearing the waterfall of words spilling from Stiles’ mouth.

It’s almost impressive.

“...so, I tapped into the police scanner and managed to coax some more info from my dad, and that’s when I pieced together the whole story. Apparently, someone running through the woods stumbled over the body of a dead girl, or at least the top half of her, and it may or may not be the girl who was reported missing a few days ago-”

“Stiles!”

_There we go._

“What?!” Stiles twists his body around—flails—to look at his friend.

“Stop,” Scott hisses through his teeth. “We have no idea who this guy is. For all we know, he could be a murderer, and you’re telling him stuff _we_ shouldn’t even know.”

Stiles scoffs. “Why do you always have to be so judgemental, Scottie? Not every stranger you meet in the dark is a weirdo.”

Scott looks genuinely confused at how calm Stiles seems.

He’s like a lost pup.

“You’re not are you?” Stiles swivels back around, fast enough that it almost gives Derek whiplash.

He just makes an inquiring noise, unsure what the question was, his mind having unintentionally wandered elsewhere.

“Are you a murderer?” Stiles tries again, and suddenly a sharp spike of unease plagues the boy’s scent. He swallows, and Derek’s eyes automatically track the movement.

“I could be,” he shrugs noncommittedly. He wills his face to stay as stoic as possible, so as not to give away the pure amusement rippling through him at seeing, even in the lack of light, the rosy pink tinge completely drain from Stiles' complexion.

“Well,” the teen claps his hands together to break the tension. “This has been absolutely delightful. We should totally do it again sometime… maybe, you know, once I’ve run your name through the police database.”

“Stiles. Come on.”

Derek huffs a laugh, but his face doesn’t change. “You should listen to your friend… _Stiles_,” he purrs out the name, getting a feel of it on his tongue.

He also doesn’t miss how it makes his mates breath hitch and heartbeat stutter.

_Interesting._

Stiles stumbles backwards, only just managing to keep himself upright, his eyes never straying from Derek’s. It’s as if he’s staring into his soul, trying to pry out all his deepest darkest secrets. It’s unnerving. He has some unreadable look on his face. It’s like a mixture of curiosity and _knowing_.

Of what, Derek has no idea, but it’s strange, to say the least. His mate should add ‘lack of self-preservation’ onto his long list of utterly perfect flaws. To stop and assess the situation instead of immediately running for the hills is slightly messed up. He's undoubtedly an enigma, but Derek’s wolf doesn’t seem put off.

If anything, it’s even more enthralled.

Stiles yields in his assessment of Derek’s psyche, snapping out of staring into his eyes, and instead, casting them downwards, bowing his head and tilting it ever so slightly to the side, exposing the long pale flesh of his throat.

Derek’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest, his wolf desperately trying to claw its way to the surface. His resolve is being tested to the absolute fucking limits at the subtle show of submission—unintentional or not.

If that wasn't punishment enough, in the very same moment a stream of light hits the side of Stiles’ face perfectly, dissolving every last coherent thought he may have had even the smallest hope of grasping onto.

Derek's heightened eyesight only gets him so far. He can see in the dark pretty clearly, definitely more than a humans eyes could ever see at night, but he's unable to make out the finer details. Now though, with the subtle glow escaping between the leaves above them, alongside his werewolf vision, he can see everything as clear as day.

Standing in front of him is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

Although he saw his mate a few days ago for the first time, he hadn’t focused too much on the exact details—too busy worrying over trivialities to care about his true mate's appearance. But now... now he can’t concentrate on anything else.

Long, elegant eyelashes encasing those warm honey-soaked eyes. A petite, slightly upturned button nose. A strong, but surprisingly delicate jaw, unburdened by any hint of stubble. Sinfully plump lips that Derek can only imagine feel as soft and intoxicating as they appear. A never-ending expanse of smooth alabaster skin sprinkled with tiny brown beauty marks—like constellations in the clear night sky.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

_Shit._

It comes out as nothing more than a breath, but from the way Stiles’ head snaps up, he heard it.

Derek should've been keeping his distance. He should've been staying away until the time was right, but now it’s too late; the damage is done.

He's so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gods above, he doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to leave the safe confines of his room for three whole days because of his embarrassment—even with the frustrated coaxing from his uncle every few hours.
> 
> All he has the mental capacity to do is obsess over the scene in his head again and again until he can no longer confidently determine the facts from his minds own interpretation of events. He wants so badly for it all to be a dream, to wake up any moment and it’s just some elaborate joke his mind is playing on him.
> 
> Derek isn’t so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the number of times I've stopped myself just turning this into a Derek & Peter thing is too many to admit. I just love Peter Hale, okay, it's bloody ridiculous. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

Derek lays in his bed back at the Loft, staring intently at every imperfection on the ceiling, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

After his subconscious admittance in the forest, he’d bolted back to the apartment and locked himself in his bedroom leaving the two boys no doubt stunned at his untimely departure.

That was three nights ago.

Three. Whole. Nights. And Derek still can’t stop one thought from mulling around in his head.

Stiles had heard him.

Gods above, he doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to leave the safe confines of his room for _three whole days _because of his embarrassment—even with the frustrated coaxing from his uncle every few hours.

All he has the mental capacity to do is obsess over the scene in his head again and again until he can no longer confidently determine the facts from his minds own interpretation of events. He wants so badly for it all to be a dream, to wake up any moment and it’s just some elaborate joke his mind is playing on him.

Derek isn’t so lucky.

He hasn’t eaten, has barely slept. Every time his eyes flutter closed from sheer exhaustion, his wolf howls until he wakes again. All it wants is for Derek to hightail it out of his window, jump in through Stiles’ own, and state his claim.

Who can blame it?

Instead of the much-needed sleep, all Derek knows for sure is that he’s spent the last seventy-two hours intermittently switching between pacing with such vigour one has to wonder how a hole hasn't worn through the carpet. Or lying in his bed stripping his cock to such an extent that he would've chafed had he been human, all while focusing on the moonlit image of Stiles that’s now seared into the forefront of his mind.

Between the worry of his mate thinking him a creeper for his revelation, and the impure fantasies playing off in his head, Derek hasn’t a fucking clue whether he’s coming or going.

Well, he’s certainly _coming—_a lot—but his wolf’s constant restless energy just isn’t helping the issue.

Of course, Derek never has enough of a second to wallow _too_ deep into his self-pity, due to the incessant knocking at his door. It’s like his uncle can sense when his thoughts dwell too far into the void of hopelessness, choosing those precise moments to disturb his strife.

Like now.

“Nephew, this is getting beyond ridiculous. What on earth has happened to make you shut yourself in there for three goddamn days?” The man sounds tired, probably at the end of his tether with trying to get him to open up.

“Go away,” he retorts under his breath, voice rough with dehydration.

He knows Peter can hear him, so he doesn’t think it necessary to waste what precious energy he has left by shouting or talking at normal volume.

“No, Derek. I will not _‘go away’_. You’ve been locked in there for _three days,_ and quite frankly I’m getting worried. You haven’t eaten any of the food I’ve left for you, and your heartbeat is loud enough to keep even me awake at night. You know how much I value my sleep, Derek, so I cannot let this go on any longer. I've respected your privacy for long enough. Let. Me. In.”

Derek lifts his head towards the door. He can hear the worry in his uncle’s tone, but he just doesn’t feel up to his humour—which will inevitably show its face at some point. “Peter, I'm fine, just-”

“Derek, I will break this door down!” the Alpha interrupts, the last vestiges of his patience seemingly evaporating into the stale air. “Do_ not_ test me. I'll ask you one more time to open this door, or I swear, you'll not want to be in the vicinity if I have to force my way in.”

Derek now has to choose between dealing with sarky uncle Peter or pissed off Alpha Peter.

He reluctantly chooses the former.

Derek peels back the bedcovers, grimacing slightly as they cling to the hair between his thighs before sulking his way to the door.

He unlocks the latch, trudging back to his bed in haste to avoid any disapproving eye contact. 

He hears the deep, overly dramatic inhale Peter takes once the door swings open fully. “Gods above, Derek, it absolutely reeks in here." The man pauses in the rooms’ threshold, disgust radiating from him in bucket loads. "How can you possibly stomach sulking in _this_?” 

His perfectionist ass is triggered, Derek can practically feel him vibrating with pent-up exasperation.

Instead of acknowledging the man, he wraps himself back up in his safe cocoon, sinking as far into the duvet as possible as he stares distractedly towards the bolted window at the other side of the room.

“You have an en-suite, Derek… with a shower. Hells teeth, even if you didn’t want to leave the room, you could've at least- I don’t know... put the sheets out for me to wash?” Peter steps further into the room, his wolf no doubt howling at him to disinfect every nook and cranny.

Derek probably would've laughed at his uncle’s antics had he been in a better mood, but right now, it’s just white noise.

“Mother Moon, this is rife,” Peter mutters to himself, clearly giving up trying to get any conversation out of his nephew. He's probably calculating exactly how many articles of clothing are now covering what had once unmistakably been a floor.

“Derek, are you even listening to me? Have you done absolutely nothing in the last few days but wallow in your own filth and wank yourself silly?”

Derek winces at his uncle’s crudeness, his nose wrinkling in distaste for the man's word choice. “Peter,” he tries to grouse but just doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he burrows his head further into the pillow, hoping that if he merges enough with the furniture his uncle will leave.

_Stupid notion._

Peter releases a—entirely unnecessary—long-suffering sigh before striding over to the window. He unbolts the stiff latch with more force than is strictly warranted and slides it open, fully.

Derek shivers at the sudden gust of fresh breeze that sweeps in, assaulting his exposed face. He makes no move to angle himself away from the cool air, just continues to lie on his side, staring forlornly towards the now open window.

A few seconds of silence pass—Peter no doubt spending them assessing his state—before the older man moves again. He makes his way over to the bed, making a point of positioning himself in front of Derek, obstructing his view of everything else but him.

Derek doesn’t look up at the man's face, but he can feel his glare burning through him like lasers.

He can also hear the grinding of his uncles teeth, the enraged breaths he's taking to calm himself down.

“What happened?” Peter asks, voice surprisingly soft compared to his earlier hissy fit at the door.

“I met Stiles,” Derek answers vaguely.

“Yes, I was there," Peter drawls, sounding bored. "I saw all that, but I don’t believe anything happened at that point to warrant this level of self-destruction.” 

Derek pauses a second before mumbling his reply. “I told him he was beautiful.”

“You... you spoke to him? Like I told you to?” Peter either hadn't heard Derek or is just choosing to be ignorant—probably the latter. Either way, his mood drastically lightens at Derek’s admission.

“I told him he was beautiful and he _heard_ me,” he repeats a little louder, gritting his teeth to stave the elongation of fangs. 

The Alpha huffs. “I heard you, nephew, but I’m really struggling to see what the issue-”

Derek snaps, his head twisting in his uncle's direction, glaring with enough force his eyes ache. “You_ ‘don’t see the issue’_?" he spits mockingly, every word dripping with venom. "Tell me, Peter, I’m curious, are you just acting stupid, or did that coma render you completely fucking senile?”

He regrets it as soon as the sentence leaves his lips, but he can't take it back now, so he just looks away lest he does something completely out of character—like apologise.

He knows his uncle isn’t at fault here, but he can’t help taking out his terrible mood on someone, and Peter is just the closest victim.

A few moments of silence pass between them before Peter decides to speak again, sounding amused at Dereks half-assed insults. “You know, I had hoped you’d grown out of your adolescent _woe-is-me_ streak, but it seems you’re still intent on acting childish.”

“Am not.”

Long pause.

“_Are too_.”

Derek risks a glance back up at the man still looming over him, and there it is, that utterly infuriating grin plastered all over his smug face.

He rolls his eyes, but despite himself, he can’t stop the small uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Damn his uncle, damn his ability to make light out of every situation.

Damn him to hell.

Derek lets out another deep sigh, hauling himself into a sitting position. He abandons his blanket fort in favour of swinging his legs over the side of the bed, wordlessly permitting his uncle to take up the now available space.

After a few moments—probably spent battling with his inner housewife persona—Derek feels the bed dip beside him. When he looks up, Peter's sitting close enough that he can feel the Alphas warmth against his naked skin.

All his sark is gone, only worry gracing his features. “Tell me what happened. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Peter’s hand moves to Derek’s wrist, squeezing gently in a silent plea for his nephew to trust him.

Derek assesses his uncle’s face before locking in on his piercing blue eyes. He detects nothing but genuine concern: no jests, no judgement, just the one person in this whole world who he can trust.

With that, he steadies his nerves, deciding to tell the man everything.

~

“Well... now there’s definitely no doubt that your wolf has made its choice,” Peter comments once Derek has finished replaying his and Stiles’ unplanned meeting in the preserve. “And since you’re trying to fight against instinct, it’s pining. That’s why you’re feeling like this. Not because you feel like an idiot, but rather you're not giving in to your wolf's desires. Ultimately your own desires too.”

Derek sighs, deflating. He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Peter continues, “I have to admit, I’ve never seen a bond form as quickly as this. You’ve only seen the boy twice, met him once but you _and_ your wolf are already clawing to claim him, that’s… quite a rarity.”

“Great,” Derek mutters dryly, a humourless laugh escaping his dry lips.

That’s all he needs. Not only has he defied the odds against him and found his true mate but he’s also managed to subconsciously form a bond without even getting within a few feet of the teen.

Most wolves need to—at the very least—touch their mate’s skin or spend time getting to know them before the foundations of a connection begins to form, but not Derek. Oh no. He only needs to see him twice, speak a few words, and he’s stuck like glue.

As Peter mentioned, the reason he’s been feeling so low these last few days isn’t that he believes he might actually die of embarrassment from his confession—as initially thought. It’s actually due to fighting his instincts and denying his wolf what it wants most.

Much like a spoilt child, when your wolf doesn’t get what it wants, it tends to throw a tantrum.

Even though you’re merged as one, you and your wolf are two separate personalities. While the wolf will most likely notice your true mate and accept them after the first whiff of their scent, it can take time for the more human side of you to do the same.

When you and your wolf both fully accept the choice, only then does a bond start to tether itself. Once that happens, as the days pass without a claiming, the wolf starts to get restless.

While it’s definite that you'll be compatible, it’s common sense that you at least talk to the person you intend on being with forever before jumping in headfirst.

Unluckily for Derek and his current fragile state of control, it seems the human part of him has, as well as his wolf, accepted Stiles as_ his _without even needing to conform to the human ideals of getting to know someone before falling in love.

Apparently, he's a ‘love at first sight’ kind of guy. Who would've guessed?

This whole shitshow is rapidly rolling further downhill. “So, what do I do now?”

“You have to decide, Derek. I mean _really_ decide. Both you and your wolf have accepted, but if you truly believe you cannot or _do not_ want to go through with this, you have to make that choice now.”

“He’s only sixteen, Peter," Derek grumbles, hands fisted in the bedsheets. "I can’t put him in this position. I can’t. He’s still got his whole life ahead of him. What if he doesn’t want me? What if I choose to claim him and he doesn’t even want me?” He can’t help the glimmer of hopelessness seeping through; the thought of his mate refusing him is not something he wants even to contemplate.

“Listen to me, right now,” Peter adjusts his position on the bed, now fully facing Derek. His whole demeanour brooking no room for argument.

_Lecture incoming._

“You need to stop with all this constant negativity. It’s giving me a goddamn headache." The man rubs at his temples as if to emphasize his point. "If he doesn’t want you, Derek, then that’s his problem, not yours, but at least you can say you tried. That’s all you can do.”

The Alpha sighs at Derek dejected expression, face softening before he continues. “I’m not telling you what to do. The choice is, and can only be, _yours._ But you do have to make a choice sooner rather than later; and it has to be what _you_ want, not what you think he'll want. Sometimes one must put their own desires first, Derek, be a little selfish. Especially with something as complex as this.”

Derek doesn’t speak; he can’t. His throat is bone dry, words sliding back down his gullet to settle heavily in his gut.

Peter is right. He has to decide. He can’t go another day feeling like this, barely functioning with his every waking moment spent obsessing over the endless possibilities.

“Either you give into instinct and claim the boy—at the very least attempt to court him to temper your wolf until you do. Or you walk away now." the Alpha adds, filling the silence with his wisdom. "But Derek, if you choose the latter, you'll have to leave Beacon Hills, at least until you claim another. Being in his vicinity will slowly drive you to delirium and I canno- _will not_ watch that happen.”

Derek doesn’t want to leave. He can’t.

All his strength and bravado aside, his uncle needs him, though he'd loathe to admit it. They need each other. They’re pack, and Derek won't abandon his pack—not again.

He’s staying. If he has to suffer and go mad with rejection to do that, then so be it.

If Laura could hear him now, she would scold him for his ridiculousness. She’d likely still coo at the fact he's a rare breed and has managed to form a bond with his true mate without so much as a second thought, but she’d still smack him across the head and tell him to stop being so self-sacrificing.

Then she’d remind him of his promise.

_‘Give him a chance.’ _The ghost of her voice flutters against his ear, sending an involuntarily shiver through his weary bones.

“I’ll give him a chance," he hears himself whispering before even realising he's opened his mouth. He clears his throat to get the next words out clearer, with more conviction. "I’ll get to know him, court him and... tell him everything. I’ll leave the choice to him ’cause, for me, the choice has already been made. No amount of running and hiding will change that. If he accepts, then… then I'll claim him.” 

Any pretence of choice he may have had was thrown to the wind the moment Derek first laid eyes on the boy. It’s just taken him until now to fully realise it. He’s too far invested to back down now. If the teen doesn’t want to be mated to him, then he'll cross that bridge when it comes, but for now, he’s going to try.

He roves his gaze back over to the window, his imagination supplying him the vivid mirage of Laura bounding around the room like a kid in a sweetshop.

He smiles fondly at the thought.

“She would be proud of you,” Peter declares, voice blending with his musings, tone soft but tinged with a hint regret. It’s as if he knows exactly what's playing through Derek’s mind; like he can see her too, the memories never fading. “As am I.”

Derek looks over to see his uncle smiling at him, a delicate curve to his lips, his eyes glassy under the light.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward, pulling his Alpha into a bone-crushing hug, placing his ear over the man's heart to ground himself. “Thanks, uncle Peter,” he whispers gratefully into the man's chest, closing his eyes and melting fully into the enveloping scent of pack—of _family_.

Peter momentarily startles at the sudden force pushing against him—no doubt shocked at the rare display of affection—but returns the gesture without further hesitation.

Fingers comb through Derek’s hair, the Alpha resting his chin on the top of his head, arms tightening as his wolf purrs with contentment. “Anytime, sweetheart.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading—kudos and feedback are always appreciated and very helpful. 
> 
> The next few chapters should be up soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months have come and gone. Stiles is now seventeen, still not what Derek would call ideal, but he feels a bit more comfortable actually approaching the subject now. It’s progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoy these two chapters I've got for ya. To be honest, they are both in the same scene, but I wrote them at different times, and since it was quite long, I decided to split it. 
> 
> Special thanks to the people who actually read the notes, I mean, kudos to you my friends.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Four months have come and gone. Stiles is now seventeen, still not what Derek would call ideal_,_ but he feels a bit more comfortable actually approaching the subject now. It’s progress.

Derek has spent the last few months keeping a safe distance, watching his mate from the sidelines—to placate his wolf until the opportune moment presents itself to approach the boy with the intent of courting him. He’s still restless, but with the wolf content in his decision to give his true mate a chance, it’s calmed down significantly from the whole debacle four months ago.

Peter laughs at him daily for his behaviour (no real change there), saying he’s downright creepy, but Derek can’t bring himself to care. He’s holding off getting into courting territory for as long as he possibly can before his wolf once again loses it with impatience. If the only way to get his wolf to behave itself in the meantime is by casually lingering in the shadows, close enough to catch the boys scent but not close enough to get caught, well, needs must.

The only problem is that Stiles seems to be trying to test his resolve at every opportunity. The number of times Derek has nearly walked into the teen unintentionally is bordering on ridiculous. How is he meant to secretly keep an eye on Stiles when Stiles is intent on just popping up absolutely everywhere out of the blue? It’s proving difficult for Derek to keep up—some people just have no consideration.

This brings Derek to his current problem. As he crosses over the threshold into the preserve, he _yet again_ catches a whiff of the gangly little fucker. At least this time it seems he’s still far enough away to give Derek ample opportunity to make himself scarce. From how saturated the scent is, he guesses the boy is nought but a few feet away from the Hale house, a couple of miles from where he’s currently standing. It has come to Derek’s attention that every time the boy enters these woods, he ends up getting closer and closer to the old home. This time he seems to have found it.

Derek, however, can also smell something else. Something _off_ about Stiles’ scent. He still recognizes the sweet and spicy aroma that surrounds his mate permanently, but this time it’s a little more… vinegary? His face screws up in mild disgust at the change. He can’t place what could be causing such a smell. What could possibly be making a once utterly intoxicating aroma turn harsh and, quite frankly, nauseating? Is Stiles in some kind of danger? Is he hurt?

Suddenly Derek can’t focus, his legs moving faster than his brain can catch up. He’s bolting through the trees, following the scent of Stiles through the preserve more swiftly than he can ever remember running before.

It isn’t long before the familiar foundations of the Hale house come into view. Since the renovations started, it’s beginning to look more like it once had. It’s still just basic walls and floors, but there are at least some lights now positioned around the exterior.

As the distance between himself and his home gets smaller, his mate’s scent gets more potent, but he still can’t see the boy—or even hear him for that matter. Panic is rising from the very pit of Derek’s stomach. Before he can think better of the idea, he starts to run around the house. Eyes, ears and nose working furiously for any indication of where Stiles could be.

Not many more than ten strides in and his mate’s scent punches his nostrils, knocking him for six, the sudden assault to his senses taking him by such a surprise that he fails to notice the rather large obstruction on the ground in front of him. Well, he does notice it, but only _after_ he goes flying ass-over-tit.

“What the fuck?” he curses to himself as he lands less than harmoniously on his stomach in front of the offending mass. A mass that, Derek swears on all that he possesses, has just made a noise.

This is it; he’s finally gone mad.

_Wait._

“Stiles?” Derek jumps to his feet, turning on his heel to look down at the forest floor to better confirm his theory. What his eyes are greeted with is, in fact, Stiles Stilinski, lying on his back, eyes closed, covered from neck to toes in a blanket of leaves.

Derek lets himself marvel at the discovery for a few seconds, utter confusion sweeping through him. He feels as though his brain has just fallen out of his ass. He needs a moment to process.

Then it hits him. Derek has, quite literally, just fallen head over heels for his mate—now that is some Shakespeare worthy shit right there.

_How’s that for you, Laura?_

It takes Derek barely another minute to also realize the reason for the sour change in the teen’s scent. His mate is completely and utterly shit-faced.

Derek rolls his eyes into his skull, beginning to wipe the dried leaves and dirt off of his clothes. Stiles had let out a slight grunt when his feet had made contact with him, but otherwise makes no indication of actually noticing the altercation. If Derek couldn’t now hear the boy’s heartbeat, he would have believed him dead.

He crouches down beside the boy, not confident enough in his control to touch, so instead, he tries to get the teens attention vocally. “Stiles,” it comes out as a whisper. He has no idea why he’s trying to keep his voice down; it’s not as if anyone else is around. “Stiles,” he tries again, louder this time but still, the boy doesn’t even stir. “Stiles!” He finally bellows, his voice roaring through the preserve, echoing in every open space between the trees. Enough to even make him cringe.

“Whaa?!” Stiles’ body shoots up into a sitting position. Leaves and dirt fly every which way as the boy’s arms flail out from where they’d been buried under his earthy cocoon. He immediately regrets the sudden motion it seems, as he clutches his forehead with a long, drawn-out groan.

“What are you doing, Stiles?” What he really wants to know is why he’s out here alone, drunk and attempting to sleep in a pile of leaves? He guesses the answer is related to the drunk thing, but why is he here, in this precise location, exactly?

“M’look ’n frr,” Stiles mumbles through the hands covering his face.

No amount of supernatural hearing could possibly decipher what just came out of the boy’s mouth. “What?”

Stiles drops his hands into his lap with a loud sigh, like its an effort to repeat himself. His head falls forward as if his hands had been the only thing keeping it upright. “Was lookin’… f’r you,” he repeats, it’s a bit more legible, but with his chin resting on his chest and his neck folded in such a way, it must be a struggle to force the words out. Derek has to strain to hear.

Once he’s has had a chance to process the words, he can’t help his breath hitching. His mate was looking for him? What possible reason could his mate be-

“Want’d ask you somefin.’” As if Stiles can read his mind, he interrupts, answering Derek’s question in turn.

“You… wanted to-” Derek’s heart is beating something wild, one million and one possibilities rolling around in his head. “What did you want to ask me, Stiles?”

Stiles manages to lift his head; it must take some strength and focus, the apparent strain showing across his face. It seems to wobble of its own accord, so he settles for letting it loll backwards, nearly giving Derek an aneurysm. The beautiful expanse of alabaster skin now on display in front of him is making all thoughts of questions just fly away. He’s close enough to touch, close enough to rub his scruff-

“Why’d d’your eyes go blue?”

Derek snaps out of his gradual advance towards the boy’s throat. Pausing in leaning forward and scenting his mate, tasting his flesh, running his cheek and tongue over-

_What did Stiles just say?_

He must be showing something resembling confusion as he doesn’t even get a chance to ask Stiles to elaborate. “Yo-your eyes. When you sa-said my name in the… in the woods the time me and Scottie were looking fo-for that body, they went like blue.” The boy makes a flashing gesture with his hand to highlight the words. “I thought I was just ‘magining it, that the moon had just hit them and made them shine o-or something but… but now that I can see you up close, you-your eyes are green. It wasn’ the moon.” Stiles rambles on as if he’s just talking about the weather. Stumbling over his words and hiccupping every few as the liquor catches up with him.

Derek hadn’t even realized. Surely he would have felt it? Had he been so distracted that he let that happen? Was that why Stiles had looked at him strangely that night? He’d been so worried about his confession to the boy that he never even thought of the possibility that Stiles had seen him close to his Beta form.

Now that he thinks about it, the boy’s heart had skipped a beat when he said his name. That must have been why. His wolf must have come out, saying his mate’s name was enough to cement the bond.

_Mother Moon kill me now._

Derek must have zoned out while quietly having his meltdown, for when he comes back to reality, it’s to his mates face being mere millimetres away from his own—close enough that he can feel Stiles’ breath ghosting his skin. A pleasant shiver rolls down his spine but turns into an electric shock as it hits his core, jolting him backwards. He lands unceremoniously on his ass in the dirt.

_This better not be becoming a theme for the evening._

Stiles huffs out a laugh. “You’re jumpy, aren’t ya? Don’t worry, M’not gonna hurt ya.”

“I’m not jumpy,” Derek snaps petulantly. “I just don’t appreciate strangers being in my personal space.” He tries to calm his rapidly beating heart as he stands once again, not chancing going back to his crouched position, just in case Stiles attempts to break down the boundaries of personal space once more.

“Are so. You ran last time too. What, did me and my buddy scare ya?” Stiles lets out a little chuckle, and it has no frickin’ right to be as adorable as it is—especially when it’s at Derek’s expense.

“No, no you didn’t,” Derek answers before he, Gods forbid, decides to do something stupid like crack a smile. “Anyways, what are you doing out here on your own? And what are you doing drinking at your age?” And Hells bells does he sound like an old fart now.

“Pft, okay daaad! It’s my birfday; I wanted to celre-celbr-celebrate!”

It’s getting kind of painful watching Stiles stutter out his words, but alas, Derek prevails. “On your own?”

“M’not on my own? You’re here.” Stiles’ eyes focus directly on Derek from where he’s still sitting in his leafy fort, he looks a little more in control of his body and is actually able to hold his neck steady while he gazes at Derek’s face.

Those beautiful, bright doe eyes, glistening with the light emanating from the side of the house. Derek can see his whole future unravelling in those deep, amber-tinged depths. The utterly jovial smile gracing the teen’s face holds enough power to make Derek’s knees weaken, threatening to drop him to the floor and beg for the privilege of acting on his mates every whim. He knows, at this very second while staring down at his true mate, he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t at least try to claim the boy. Derek is already besotted. He can’t fight it.

“Help me up?” Stiles stretches out his arms and proceeds to make grabby hands in Derek’s direction, snapping him, once again, out of his unholy train of thought. He shakes his head to better clear his mind. Stiles is still young, that fact hasn’t changed.

A faux sigh leaves his lips as if it isn’t a complete honour to be asked for help by his mate. He bypasses Stiles’ hands and instead leans down to wrap his arms around the boys back, his nose now dangerously close to the teen’s throat—he makes that realization too late, however. Stiles takes the aid as it comes and wraps his outstretched arms over Derek’s shoulders, closing the distance between Derek’s face and the crook of his delicate neck. Derek cannot help the subconscious inhale.

By the Gods does he want to just wrap himself up in that scent. He does what his instinct dictates and gently rubs his scruff along the boy’s cheek as he goes to hook his chin over the boy’s shoulder. The action earns him a shudder, and the smallest exhale of breath into his ear—this really isn’t helping Derek’s control.

Before he can give himself enough time to really fuck things up, he lifts the boy to his feet, only holding on long enough to make sure he’s steady and able to hold himself up. He goes to pull away, but Stiles continues to cling on. Derek takes his hands off the boy in an attempt to back up, but Stiles seems content with just hugging him for dear life.

“Stiles, y-you can let go now,” Derek tries through an unsteady breath. His wolf is vibrating inside him. With his mate so close and expelling nothing but pure comfort with being wrapped around Derek’s body, it’s driving the beast wild with triumph.

“Don’t wanna. Warm,” the boy mumbles into Derek’s shoulder. The humid air of his breath clinging to his skin, seeping through to his very bones.

Derek gives in. He wraps his arms around his mate, returning the embrace. His mate is cold, he can feel it even through his multiple layers of plaid and graphic tees, so it’s in Derek’s instincts to warm him, to provide for him; however he can. It’s fine, it’s completely innocent, just a hug which could be seen as platonic—nothing sexual about it. Surely the law doesn’t forbid comforting a minor in this way.

_Does it?_

Except, in Derek’s momentary collapse in judgement, Stiles’ scent has changed again.

_Oh shit._

Derek pulls away as if burned, ignoring the grumble of discontent from Stiles. He has to leave, has to go home. Has to get as far away from here as he can. He can’t be in Stiles’ presence with that… that smell. Trying to resist his natural scent is one thing, but the rich, musky smell coming off him at this very second goes way beyond Derek’s capabilities of control.

_Arousal._

God’s above. Derek cannot be smelling that. Not right now. How could he be so stupid? He should have turned around and walked away when he had the chance. Now he has that intense spicy, sickly-sweet aroma mixed with that unmistakable thick musk permeating into every single fibre of his clothing. No amount of washing the fabric is going to get that smell saturated enough for his wolf senses not to notice.

_Curse you, Mother Moon._

Derek goes to turn, his flight mode finally kicking in. But, he doesn’t get far before long nimble fingers grab at his arm. “Don’t go. M’ sorry. I only wanted to know why your eyes went blue, I-I didn’t mean to ‘nnoy you. I’ll go… I’ll not come back. Promise.” Stiles tone is dripping with hopelessness; his whole aura has changed from warmly contented to the cold, bitterness of thinking his intimacy is being rejected.

Derek whines high in his throat. Hurting his mate is not his intention, he doesn’t want Stiles to feel any sort of distress nor does he want him to leave thinking it’s because he’s done something wrong, but Derek knows he can’t stay here. He can’t risk the possibility of losing control. “You haven’t annoyed me, Stiles,” he says it with as much sincerity as he can, to soothe the boy’s anxiety. “It’s late. We should both be getting home.” Derek continues without turning to face the boy.

Of course, that proves pointless. Stiles just walks around into his view anyway.

_This boy_, _seriously_.

“That’s probably a good idea. M’tired… and really cold.” Stiles agrees as his hands run up and down his arms to try take the edge off the crisp autumn air.

Derek can visibly see Stiles shiver, and he can’t have that. He huffs once again (even though he’s the opposite of put out—not really anyway), and focuses his attention on providing for his mate’s needs. The scent of anticipated sexual contact has simmered down slightly. While it’s still clinging to his clothes, it isn’t wafting directly from the boy now that they’ve separated, so perhaps he can last a little longer in the teen’s presence—at least to see the boy to safety.

He unzips his leather jacket and peels it over his arms, wrapping it around the shivering teen, even as he goes to protest. “No… no, you’ll get cold.”

_How sweet._

“Wolve- eh, I-I don’t feel the cold... much.” Derek catches himself before the slip, hopefully managing to save himself from a premature revelation. Now is not the time for that, even ifthe boy won’t remember a thing in the morning.

“Thank you, Derek.”

Derek puffs out his chest—he can’t help it, okay? He’s satisfied with pleasing his mate. He lets the corners of his lips turn upward. A private smile, only to be seen by Stiles. “No problem.” He lets himself stare into those whiskey coloured orbs once more before pulling his hands away from where they are holding onto the jacket’s lapels.

Stiles’ gaze doesn’t leave him; he seems to be assessing Derek in his entirety.

Appeased with what he sees, he smiles fondly before breaking the silence. “So… how do I get out of here?”

“The same way you came in?” Derek retorts, sarcastically.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, Der-ek!”

Derek lets out a breath that could be seen as a laugh. Or at least as close to a laugh as he’s is willing to let go. “Come on; I’ll walk you home.”

Derek knows it’s probably not the best idea, but the thought of leaving his mate to wander his way home in this state, in the dark, seems like an even worse idea.

“My hero,” Stiles chirps as he dramatically clutches his chest, fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratedly as if playing the damsel in distress.

Derek shakes his head fondly, maybe even rolls his eyes too for effect. Gods, this boy is something else.

“We just need to get Scottie and then we can go.”

Derek freezes. Stiles can’t possibly mean that his friend (the other boy from their first encounter in these very same woods) has been around here somewhere this whole time and thought it prudent only to mention it now? Worse than that, another human has been on Derek’s territory for the past... however long this encounter has taken, and he didn’t notice. Surely Stiles is just confused. He can’t see or hear anyone els-

_Wait._

There, silently thumping away in the distant background, is indeed a third heartbeat.

_Fuck._

How could he have let himself get so distracted? He’s been so wrapped up in his mate’s scent, in his mates... everything, that he didn’t even notice another body in the area. Anyone could have snuck up on them. Anyone could’ve been wandering these woods; hunters, other wolves, any supernatural creature that wishes either of them harm and Derek. Didn’t. Even. Notice.

He mentally berates himself for being so careless. How could he possibly hope of winning over his mate if he can’t even focus enough to detect possible threats—if he can’t even keep his mate safe?

His wolf whines at his failure. He’s right; he doesn’t deserve this. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I-”

“What are you apologizing for?” Stiles sounds confused.

Of course he does, he doesn’t realize the error Derek has just made or the significance of said error. Derek looks at Stiles’ face and sees no disappointment. How could anyone blame him for being so distracted? When the most beautiful soul is standing in front of him; trusting him enough to hold him, to allow him to escort him home in his vulnerable state. His true mate is curious enough about him to risk all possible danger to come into the woods in the pitch black to seek him out. He was fixated enough on what happened in their first encounter that he felt the burning need to confront Derek, even after all these months.

He surely can’t be blamed for his momentary collapse in proper brain function. Peter wouldn’t blame him at least, and he’s sure, at that moment, even if Stiles knew everything about werewolves and their instincts, he wouldn’t blame Derek either.

He takes a deep breath. The sooner he gets his mate home and tucked up in bed, the quicker he can get home and actually get his head around this whole thing. Perhaps even take up his uncle’s offer to better train him in the fine art of self-control. Either way, he has to do something. He can’t keep running the risk of putting his mate in danger. Especially when it’s now quite clear that the whole avoiding him until he’s eighteen has gone entirely out the window—Stiles doesn’t seem to want to adhere to that unspoken plan. So, if he learns control, at least he’ll be able to actually be around his mate and not feel the constant urge to fuck him into oblivion.

“Where exactly is your friend?” Derek breaks his own thoughts; he’s his own worst enemy letting his mind wander in these long bouts of silence.

“Erm, I’m not sure. He was beside me not long ago but I-I dunno.” Stiles answers, subtle panic lacing his words.

“We’ll find him,” Derek assures the boy before he has a chance to work himself into a frenzy. What he really means to say though is that _he_ will find him. Now that he’s shaken away his thoughts and cleared his head; he should easily be able to sniff out the boy (or at the very least follow his steady heartbeat).

Derek knows Scott’s not in trouble—his hearts slow rhythm suggests he may actually be sleeping, or close to it. Either way, he’s alive, but he may have possibly passed out. That’s all he needs.

Derek takes a deep inhale, making sure Stiles doesn’t witness the action, lest he have to explain why he is casually sniffing the air like a dog, but he can’t seem to catch any other scent. Only Stiles and the crisp autumn leaves blanketing the forest floor. His senses are still malfunctioning it appears. So, he settles for following the gentle _beat, beat, beat_.

“Scottie!” Stiles hollers, trying (and failing) to get his friends attention.

Derek does not jump at his mate’s sudden and unrestrained volume, not at all. “Stiles, just... stay here. I’ll find him. Just go sit on the porch, I’ll come and get you when I find him.” Derek looks at the boy and decides to add, “Don’t_. _Move_.”_ He tries to assert some form of dominance, knowing the boy isn’t exactly one to follow the rules.

He’s at least confident in the fact that he will, under no uncertain terms, be able to hear his mate call out if he’s in danger. Not that Derek is planning on leaving him alone for long.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles puts up his hands in mock surrender as he begins retreating towards the front step. “Just hurry, m’ freezing.”

“I mean it, Stiles. Stay here.” Derek tries again, knowing his mate is most likely already planning on disobeying the request.

“Yes, Derek,” Stiles promises with a petulant little salute. Derek rolls his eyes and sets off in the direction of Scottie.

~

It takes Derek longer than he’d hoped to find the other boy. How he’s managed to wander this far away from his friend in the state he’s in is actually quite impressive. However, from the look of it, the boy has tripped over a fallen tree branch. Instead of getting up again, he succumbed to his fate and taken to resting his eyes while sprawled haphazardly across the forest floor.

Derek can see why the two boys are so compatible as friends; they are both as clumsy and hopeless as each other it would seem.

He lets out an exasperated sigh as he extends his foot to tap the side of one of Scott’s limbs. He can’t really be sure if it’s a leg or an arm with the way the teen is all tangled up. The boy doesn’t stir, just grunts.

Derek laughs to himself. These two are made for each other. “Scott. Get up. I’m taking you home,” he says with a hint of command. There is no doubt he will sleep like a log after the events of tonight.

“No, Sti. I’m sleepin’,” Scott mumbles as he pulls his spread-eagled limbs closer to his body as if trying to cuddle in.

“I am not Stiles. And you can’t be asleep if you’re talking. Get up so I can take you both home.” Derek tries again, his will to live is draining from him with every passing second. What sin has he committed in his life to deserve being saddled with two stubborn, drunken teenagers?

Scott turns his head and opens his eyes to the realization that he isn’t actually talking to his friend as he thought. Derek is prepared for fear, perhaps a little bit of flailing or maybe even having to chase the boy down when he decides to up and bolt from the strange man now looming over him. What he isn’t prepared for is-

“Oh, hi, Der’k. Stiles want’d talk to you,” Scott greets airily, no hint of fright or even confusion.

Derek is kind of struck dumb for a second. Alcohol really must give you more confidence, or maybe it just wholly wipes out any resemblance of self-preservation.

“Did he now?” Derek asks once he’s back online. “What did he want to talk to me about?” He’s curious to see if Stiles told his friend the reasoning for seeking him out—the supernatural reasoning.

“Oh, erm, he thinks you’re… hot.” Scott grimaces.

_Well, Stiles hadn’t divulged that little piece of info._

“Yeah, he said he want’d to get all up in _that_…” Scott continues as he gestures a hand to signify the whole of Derek. “And I told him that was waaaay to much inf’rmation, but he was deter-determined to see you again. Somethin’ about your ‘_beautiful eyes’. _Ugh.”

Derek can’t help his preening; he’s glad Scott can’t see in the dark as he must have the smuggest, self-satisfied grin across his face. That also means Stiles hasn’t told his friend about seeing Derek’s eyes flash blue, or if he had, Scott doesn’t seem to remember it. At least he doesn’t have to worry about two teenagers learning about the supernatural.

“Well, I am flattered, but I really should be getting you two-”

“You… you betrayer!”

Derek turns sharply towards the noise to see Stiles standing a few feet behind him. Mother Moon, his superhuman senses really have gone to shit. Of course, the disobedient little fucker couldn’t stay put. Derek can’t find it in himself to actually be surprised; he’s just quietly berating himself for not noticing the boy sooner.

“M’ sorry bud. He did ask,” Scottie shrugs, not even the slightest bit stunned at his friend’s sudden appearance.

This boy really shouldn’t drink, nothing seems to faze him in this state. Derek could be wolfed out right now, and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash.

“That’s… that’s not the point, man. It’s number one rule of bro code,” Stiles whines, as he stumbles forward to get closer to them both.

How he managed to, one; get this far without injuring himself and, two; find them (considering Derek found Scott at least half a mile away from where he left Stiles at the Hale house) is seriously an incredible feat.

Derek watches, in silence, the two teens talk among themselves as if he isn’t even present.

“Twasn’t ‘xactly a secret, Sti. Y’ said it quite loudly in the school hallway.” Scott mumbles, letting his head fall back down into the leaves, closing his eyes once more as if this conversation is taking up way too much energy.

“I didn’t say it loudly. I whispered.” Stiles pouts, but at the raised eyebrows and side-eye looks from both Scott andDerek, he starts to backtrack his statement. “Okay, maybe I said it a lil loud.” Eyebrows going impossibly higher. “Fine, I said it loudly, buuuut that’s not the point. You told him I thought he was… attractive. You… you don’t do that, man.”

Derek hears no lie. He allows himself the triumphant smile—directed towards the ground, of course.

“Stiles, he jus’ said he was flattered.” Scottie sighs, the subtext being; ‘_just shut up and let me sleep’_.

“Yeah but- Wait, really?” Stiles pivots on the spot and directs his attention to Derek for the first time since his arrival.

Derek startles for a moment; he had slowly allowed himself to stare off into infinite space as the two had their mostly one-sided rant.

Hell, he doesn’t want to have this conversation; he just wants to go home. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” he answers honestly.

“You’re… you’re gay?” Stiles questions while looking at Derek like he’s just spouted horns, and Gods almighty he definitely _is not_ having this conversation.

“Just because I’m flattered with you finding me attractive, does not mean I am gay, Stiles. A compliment is a compliment, no matter who it comes from.”

“Oh.” Stiles looks… disappointed. Not the answer he’d been hoping for, apparently.

Derek gazes at him, but Stiles’ eyes are cast to the floor. He can physically see the wheels turning in Stiles’ head. He can _feel_ the tension in the boy’s muscles from where his fingers are pulled tightly into fists—probably holding himself back from asking more questions.

Scott interrupts before Derek can cave and tell his mate that he finds him attractive too. “Not that I don’t absolutely love watchin’ this Romeo and Juliet shit happenin’ here, it’s beautiful, really… but I can’t feel m’toes.”

Derek’s attention snaps back to the boy on the floor, having to halt himself from growling at the interruption. He has no idea how the teen can possibly be displaying such a sense of comfort with the way he is on the floor, but he guesses that’s another effect of too much liquor.

Derek stretches out his hand for the boy to grab onto. When he doesn’t make any move to take the offered help, and instead raises one eyebrow as if to say; ‘_what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?’_ Derek huffs and drops lower to offer his upper body as support.

Scott grabs onto his biceps as he pulls him to his feet. Thankfully, he doesn’t have the penchant for cuddling as Stiles does; instead, he just wobbles a little before finding his bearings. “Geez, you’re strong. S’ strong.” Scott mumbles as he steadies himself—only _after_ he’s had enough of squeezing Derek’s muscles ’cause this whole situation isn’t exactly weird enough.

The boy blinks a few times exaggeratedly, probably trying to acclimatize himself after being on the ground for so long with his eyes closed. “Right, homeward bound!” He goes to take a step forward, but misses entirely and barrels straight into Derek.

Derek only just manages to catch the teen before he takes them both down. “Shit, how much exactly have you had to drink?” he asks, now genuinely concerned with how much alcohol the two had to actually consume to get like this.

“Just a lil’,” Scott groans—which is a lie—as he makes a gesture with his thumb and forefinger in front of Derek’s face to show him how much he thinks he’s drunk.

Derek just rolls his eyes. It’s not his place to scold them. “Come on, let’s get you two home.” He attempts to stand Scott up straight, but the boy is having none of it and instead decides to sling his arm over Derek’s shoulder for support while he walks. Derek huffs but just gives in to the inevitable—at least this way he can set the pace.

“Holy shit, you do have beautiful eyes,” Scott whispers as he gets way to close to the wolf’s face for his comfort. Derek jerks his head back to highlight the importance of personal space.

“Told ya,” Derek hears a small voice coming from behind them. Stiles is now smiling to himself—as if he’s just won a prize.

Derek can’t help smiling back. “Right, let’s go,” he says, once again but he stops to think for a second. “Do you need help too?”

The boy obviously had enough of his senses together to make his way from the house to where they are all standing now without too much difficulty. But he just wants to be sure—obeying instinct and all that.

Stiles mulls it over for a second. “Nah, m’ not as bad as him. I’ll… I’ll be fine. But, I’m counting on you rescuing me if I overestimate my abilities.” He comes up to stand on the other side of Derek—the one that Scott is not currently falling asleep and drooling on.

“Always.”

Stiles beams at him, had it not been pitch black, Derek is sure he would have seen a lovely blush creep over the boy’s face.

After a moment, he clears his throat and starts to haul the dead weight plastered to the side of him towards the exit to the preserve. Stiles follows, letting his arm casually brush up against Derek’s without thought and never straying too far from his side.

_How it should be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, there's more on the way very soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No self-preservation to be seen here. None whatsoever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I started posting on here I've grown a bit more confident in my abilities, I'm still nowhere near where I want to be, but I really hope I can continue and just get better along the way—I'm having so much fun. So, without getting too sappy, thanks to everyone who has read my stuff so far, I hope I can give you enough reason to stick around! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this—comments and kudos much appreciated!

After what seems like forever, Derek finally manages to get a practically immobile Scott to the front door of his house.

The teen had lasted all the way to the edge of the preserve before his legs caved in and Derek decided it’d be easier for all involved if he just carried the boy—bridal style. It had almost been worth it just for the deep belly-laugh he got out of Stiles for his efforts.

Had anyone come across the trio, they would’ve had an absolute treat with what they saw. Scott flopping bonelessly in Derek’s arms, Stiles stopping every few moments to crease over in hilarity and Derek cursing the heavens for giving him the idea to leave the house tonight.

Of course, it’s all for show on Derek’s part, but no one needs to know that but him.

With Derek’s strength, the teen doesn’t exactly weigh much, so that isn’t an issue. What he's not overly keen on is the prospect of someone seeing him carrying not only a minor but a passed out drunk minor, through the town in the dead of night.

Thankfully though, all his fears are for nought as they've managed to wander from the preserve to Scott’s house without being confronted.

Derek shakes the boy awake in his arms, giving him warning before setting him down. He helps steady him, his hand placed firmly at the centre of his back for support while the teen scrambles through his pockets for his keys.

“Ah, ha!” Scott hollers triumphantly, then covering his mouth with his free hand when he realises he’s being too loud. “Shh, shh. Don’t wanna wake my mom,” he whispers to Derek and Stiles, both of whom have said absolutely nothing.

Stiles snorts. “Ring me tomorrow, Scottie, so I know you didn’t die through the night.”

“Yessir.” Scott mock salutes before fumbling with the key in the keyhole.

Derek takes pity on the boy one last time, opening the door swiftly and ushering Scott inside without actually crossing the threshold himself.

Once inside, Scott leans against the door frame for support once Derek’s hand leaves his back. His face splits into a blinding grin, waving his final goodbyes before shutting the door. Derek can hear the teen wobble on his feet on the other side, tripping over something and cursing.

He can’t help but laugh internally. He just hopes the boy manages to get to bed without too much injury.

“Will he be alright?” he asks, unsure whether Stiles wants to go home or stay and help his friend to bed.

Stiles seems to think on it a moment while grimacing. “Yeahhh, he’s tough as nails. No doubt the noise he’s making will wake up Melissa, and she’ll put him to bed. She'll probably put out a witch hunt for me tomorrow though… but it’ll be fine.”

“You don’t make a habit of this, do you, Stiles?” Derek isn’t sure if it’s a statement or a question. Either way, he hopes the answer is no. Not that Derek is some old fuddy-duddy who presumes to tell teenagers what they can and cannot do, teens will be teens and had Derek the ability to get drunk; he probably would have done it underage too. It’s not exactly right, but it happens. However, he still doesn’t like the idea of his mate being out here and vulnerable_._

“Erm, no. This is our first time, actually.” Stiles is telling the truth but is rubbing the back of his neck as if he is nervous, or maybe embarrassed.

Derek can breathe a sigh of relief—for now at least. “Well, just… be careful. You don’t know who could’ve been wandering about the woods at this time of night. It sets me on edge you traipsing around there sober let alone like this. Anyone could… could have taken advantage.” He doesn’t care if he sounds like a scolding father; he just wants his mate to realise the danger he could have put himself in.

“Aw, Der. Are you worried about my virtue?”

“Stiles, you know that’s not… that’s not-”

“I know I’m joking.” Stiles interrupts Derek’s stuttering. “You needn’t worry, though. Had something happened, you would have been my knight in shining armour, I’m sure of it.”

No self-preservation to be seen here. None whatsoever.

“You can’t always rely on other saving you, Stiles. Had I stayed at home tonight, you might’ve been in that pile of leaves until morning. Just… Gods, just, please… be more careful.” He close to begging and if he has too, he will.

He knows Stiles probably won’t heed his warnings, and just carry on doing whatever he pleases anyway—he’s just that kind of mischievous youth—but Derek needs him to, at the very least, take a second to think on the risks of his actions next time. There is no doubt in his mind that this boy will keep Derek on his toes.

“I promise.” It’s soft and barely there, but Derek hears the sincerity and nods his approval. It’s then that he notices the look on Stiles’ face like he’s contemplating something.

“What?”

“You said _‘Gods’_. Plural. Are you Hindu? Or... Wiccan? Or something?”

Derek sighs, his warning went in one ear and out the other it seems. “Or something,” he states, not bothering to explain.

“Oh, okay.” Stiles, he can see, wants to question him further but thanks to Derek’s curt answer, seems reluctant to pry.

When nothing else is said, Derek makes his move to start walking back down Scott’s garden path, content he’s given enough scoldings for one night. He is quite happy with notgetting into another almost supernatural conversation. “Let’s get you home.”

Stiles follows, nodding as he tries to keep up with Derek’s strides.

~

They walk in silence the short distance from Scott’s house to Stiles’. It should’ve been awkward, but it somehow feels comfortable. Like they are both just relishing in the presence of each other, not needing words to show their contentment. It makes Derek’s wolf feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He feels more at ease at this moment than he has for longer than he can remember, positively more relaxed than he’s been in the months since he first discovered his true mate.

They both gradually come to a stop as they approach Stiles’ front door. The only car in the driveway is a baby blue jeep—Stiles’, Derek knows from when he’d seen the boy driving to or from school. Derek breathes a sigh of relief at the lack of police cruiser, at least he won’t have to worry about the Sheriff walking out and shooting him.

“So, erm… this is me.” Stiles starts; he sounds nervous. Like he isn’t sure what to say but wants to say something. Anything.

“I’ll see you around, Stiles,” He nods his goodbye to the teen. “I’ll wait here to make sure you get in okay. Don’t want to leave and have you brain yourself on the doorstep with me not here to saveyou.”

Stiles smiles in appreciation as he takes his keys out of his pocket to open the door. He pushes it open and stands still for what seems like too long. Derek is about to open his mouth to ask what’s wrong when he suddenly has an arm full of... _mate_.

Stiles has gone from having one foot in his front door to being pressed chest to chest with Derek within lightning speed. Faster than Derek has ever seen someone intoxicated move before. Hell, faster than he’s known any humanto move.

One of the boy’s arms wraps around his shoulder, while the other hand moves to the back of his head; long, nimble fingers tangled up in his hair, grabbing the strands with just the right amount of force, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to Derek’s core.

His own hands are placed firmly around the boy’s waist, his fingers digging in, harsh enough to leave a mark but probably not enough to bruise. They are pressed together, sharing in each other’s body heat, close enough to share breath.

Derek barely has a second to wonder what Stiles is doing before the boys plush lips cover his own. Just a firm press that somehow holds all the passion the boy possesses. It’s as if his very soul is invested in this one brief touch. Derek startles, his eyes flying wide in surprise. He keeps them open; he can’t do anything otherwise, as he marvels at the sight before him. His mate with his eyes closed, completely blissed out—it’s ethereal.

Unfortunately, it’s over before he can even protest. Not that he wanted too, even though he should have. Gods above, he should be pushing the teen away; he should be telling him no. Not because he doesn’t want his mates lips on him—_Mother Moon does he ever_—but because he is still so young_._ He knows this, he is reciting it like a mantra over and over again in his head, but he still doesn’t want this ever to end.

Fuck it, he’s already bound for hell; that much is inevitable, so, why not go sown with at least having tasted what he could have had? Or still can have.

Stiles pulls back and sees Derek’s eyes are on him—searching. His scent breeches embarrassment as he stutters, “I’m sorry… I-”

Derek is having none of that. He tightens his grip on the teen, revelling in the little hitch of breath he receives. The look of surprise mixed with, perhaps, a little touch of fear flitting over the beautiful boy’s features. Derek doesn’t let him dwell on what he’s about to do, doesn’t let the boy conjure up all the different scenarios he no doubt will be thinking of as to why Derek is holding him in such a bruising grip before the wolf surges forward and lays claim to his mate’s mouth.

There is nothing chaste or innocent about this kiss, oh no, it’s pure, white-hot, sugar-soaked lust. Absolutely primal_._ Derek’s wolf is hungry to taste his mate, and he isn’t about to disappoint the beast.

He smirks against Stiles’ lips as the boy whimpers and mewls into his mouth, greedily swallowing all the pretty sounds into his chest. The teen doesn’t even bother trying to keep up, just tilts his head to give Derek the access he needs to devour him and permitting him to take everything. He’s allowing Derek’s tongue to explore his mouth without any hint of anything other than pure want.

Derek has died and gone to Heaven. It’s one thing smelling and touching his mate, but a completely different thing being able to taste him. He’s sweet, under the still present layers of rum and cola, he tastes like everything Derek could have hoped for. Everything he ever imagined. He just tastes like… _home_. If anyone asked, he wouldn’t be able to find enough words to explain it. It’s unlike anything he has ever experienced. He regrets rolling his eyes whenever Laura or his parents had mentioned the phenomenon of true mates ’cause colour him a fucking believer. It’s absolute bliss.

Derek’s teeth bite into Stiles bottom lip, not enough to draw blood but enough to entice the most obscene moan from the boy’s throat. Stiles is going to be the death of him, and Derek can’t find it in himself to care.

With one last soothing lick over his mate’s now swollen, kiss-bruised lips, Derek retreats. Even with his mate’s noise of disapproval at the loss of contact, he has to quit while he’s ahead before things escalate to where he desperately wants them to go.

He can’t help feeling smug for the way Stiles is gulping in breaths of air, utterly debauched and Derek has barely even started. As much as he wants to thoroughly ruin this boy for anyone else, to claim him, to have him writhing and panting under him, begging for release... he can’t. Not in good conscience, anyway.

Thankfully, his wolf seems satisfied enough with what it’s been offered. Enough so that Derek can walk away, still fully human and in control. Blue balled, yes, but in control.

Stiles is looking at him as if he’s just hung the moon and he can’t help displaying one last show of affection—running his hand down the side of the boy’s cheek, and feeling the heated flush against his palm. His thumb smoothes over the plump bottom lip, following the movement closely with his eyes. When Stiles sticks out his tongue to run it over the digit, Derek can’t hold back his approving purr.

“Goodnight, Stiles.” His voice is husky, proving that he may be just as close to falling apart as Stiles is. He drops his arm, putting both hands into his jean pockets and leaves, not daring to look back in case he convinces himself to stay—or Stiles does.

After a few moments, when he rounds the corner out of sight, he hears his mate snap out of his dumbstruck stupor long enough to make his way into his house. He trips going up the stairs, mind obviously still in the clouds, but otherwise manages to make his way to his bedroom safely. It doesn’t take long before the tell-tale sign of their mutual _frustration_ proves too much for the boy to ignore.

If Derek lingers a few meters away, listening to his mate moaning out his name, well, no one needs to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you think any more tags or warnings should be added.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As predicted, Derek slept like a pup after the events of the previous eve. Of course, that was after he reacquainted himself with his right hand—many, many times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone who is actually following this; I lost interest for a while and couldn't think of what to write, but we are back and hopefully going to be a bit more consistent in the future. I really hope I can make it up to you with the three new chapters I will be posting over the weekend.
> 
> There are a few warnings for this chapter, but I will have to put them in the endnotes like last time so as not to spoil the story.
> 
> As always, Peter Hale is my God, so he's like a proper hero in this chapter—as always really—so fingers crossed that's okay with you. If not, I'd just skip this altogether. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter; I have two more on their way before Sunday! 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

As predicted, Derek slept like a pup after the events of the previous eve. Of course, that was _after_ he reacquainted himself with his right hand—many, many times.

The memory of hearing his name falling from his mates lips amidst his own throes of passion, the taste of his mate’s sinful tongue. The _smell_. Gods, the smell that is still clinging to the Henley he’d worn had been more than enough material to bring himself off probably a few times too many—at least by human standards. But Derek doesn’t care, he’s on cloud nine, and nothing is going to ruin that for him, least of all a bit of chafing.

Peter had just smirked at him when he finally got back to The Loft from his little gallivant in the woods. The dopey grin on his face must have been enough for his uncle to know precisely where he’d been.

Derek hardly smiles, not since what happened to their family, so Peter must’ve suspected something truly sensational had happened to render him in such a state of twitter-pated bliss. He just took one glance at Derek, let his signature smirk grace his features, and then went back to his reading—leaving Derek to float quite contentedly up to his room to reminisce.

However, it’s now the next morning, and Derek is not so naive as to believe his uncle’s silence will stay that way. He knows, as soon as he goes downstairs for breakfast, he’ll be bombarded with the usual line of snarky remarks. If he’s honest, he’s in too much of a good mood to let that bother him; he may even really put the shits up his uncle and actually join in with the teasing—now that might shut the man up.

Derek smiles to himself at the thought. He knows he’s stayed in bed longer than usual already and his wolf is starting to get restless with his idleness so he may as well get it over with sooner rather than later. He can hear Peter pottering about in the kitchen. The clock on his wall is showing ten, so the man has most likely been awake for a few hours already, but Derek was too deep in his slumber to notice. Throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed with a bit more of a spring in his step than usual, he sets about getting cleaned and dressed.

Not much later, he makes his way down the spiral stairs—if he hops off the last few steps as he’d done as a boy of thirteen, well, Stiles is to blame for that.

“Morning, my dearest Nephew,” Peter purrs from where he stands in the kitchen.

“Good morning, my most favourite Uncle.” Derek exclaims as he enters the room, he doesn’t fail to notice the way his Alpha freezes in his movements, his shoulders tensing at the sound of his chipper attitude.

_Derek: one, Peter: nil._

“Someone’s uncharacteristically happy.” Peter turns his head over his shoulder to look at him, most likely checking him over for any signs of intoxication. “I dare say it looks good on you.”

Derek takes a seat on the closest stool behind the breakfast bar, twirling once a bit too whimsically. “Hm, I hadn’t noticed.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “What, may I ask, has brought on this drastic change in personality?” The prods as he goes back to making bread.

“Nothing in particular. Just woke up like this, I guess.” Derek shrugs his shoulders for effect, his uncle isn’t looking at him, but he will be able to sense the gesture nonetheless.

“Uh, huh. It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain pale little human now would it?”

His uncle will be able to hear his heartbeat, so there’s no point in lying, but he isn’t going to give the Alpha the satisfaction of him straight up admitting it. So, Derek does the first thing that feels right. He just laughs a hearty thing, straight from deep in his gut. To be honest, if he wasn’t having so much fun at his uncle’s expense, it would be loud enough to startle even him.

As anticipated, the noise does the trick. Peter whips around faster than the speed of light, nearly dropping the dough he’s been kneading throughout this whole conversation onto the floor. He’s staring at Derek as if he has just sprouted six legs. If his eyebrows rise any higher, they’ll be exclusive members of the mile-high club.

“Who are you and what the ever-loving fuck have you done with my Nephew?

Derek stares in smug satisfaction. The look on Peter’s face is priceless. It should probably make him feel even just slightly guilty that laughing gets such a reaction. He’s not one to show anything other than stony stoicism on his face usually, so it’s fair enough, but he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than just pure happiness.

Gods, if this is what he is like after just kissing the boy, what is he going to be like after claiming him?

“Relax, Alpha mine. I’ve not been possessed. I am just… happy.” Derek smiles as he watches the older man’s features contort into several different expressions in the span of three seconds. Shock. Disbelief. Understanding. Finally, he settles on fondness.

“I, for one, am more than glad to hear you say that. It’s about time you had something in your life worthy of that smile.”

“_Someone_.” Derek corrects, instinctively.

“I knew it!” Peter exclaims, looking exactly like the cat who caught the canary.

“Of course you knew it, Peter. You know everything.”

“Not to toot my own horn, but yes, yes, I do.” Peter’s usual level of self-assurance is evident in his tone.

“You? Toot your own horn? Never.” Derek gives his uncle a run for his money with the predatory grin across his face, not bothering to cover up the amusement he feels when Peter narrows his eyes at him.

“Leave the sarcasm to me, Nephew dear. It doesn’t become you.”

Derek huffs his amusement as he gets up from where he’s sitting to leave.

“I take it I am not going to hear the story then?” Peter asks, and Derek doesn’t miss the slight hint of disappointment in his voice. Peter thrives on gossip, ‘_knowledge is power’_ he always quotes, so, one thing that ruins his day most is being denied it.

Derek stops before leaving the room, and without turning, he makes a noise as if thinking on his answer. “Nope.” Emphasising the_ ‘p’_ for the sake of drama.

He hears his uncle’s indignant huff and smiles to himself triumphantly; he’ll let the older man stew in his curiosity for a little while longer.

~

A few days pass, and there is still no sign of Derek’s mood depleting. He can’t confidently remember the last time he’s gone this long with a smile on his face.

Peter keeps asking him his reason, even though he knows it’s something to do with Stiles, he is still insistent on having the juicy details. Derek hasn’t budged, he’s too much enjoying his uncle’s childish tantrums every time he tells him that it’s a secret. Seeing his Alpha pout and threaten to never talk to him again is way too hilarious in Derek’s opinion to give up the tease now.

Derek is currently taking his daily stroll to the Hale house, a little more leisurely than the average scouting pace he usually partakes in. The last few days, he’s wandered through the preserve and taken the time actually to appreciate the surroundings; the noises, the smells, the overall beauty of the forest. He missed the times when he and his sisters used to play hide and seek amongst these trees—a challenging game to play for werewolves, but he can’t help but smile at the fond memory. If he was to close his eyes, he knows his mind would easily be able to conjure up the image of them. To paint a vivid picture of them sprinting and dancing around in front of him, their laughs echoing through the wind as if time had gone back to those days before fire consumed them. Derek would give anything to see his family one more time. While the thought of them doesn’t cripple him as intensely as it had done a few years ago, he still feels the ache in his chest whenever their faces appear in his mind.

Peter has helped him come to terms with the tragedy; he’s learned to treat the memories as moments to cherish, things to hold onto and think of fondly, rather than tearing himself apart with guilt. While he still feels like it was his fault, and isn’t sure that will ever really go away, he has realised that he’ll always remember them, his life included enough happiness when his family was alive that they can carry him through the sadness.

Derek’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud gasp. He hadn’t even realised he’d stopped walking or had closed his eyes until his lids snap open at the sound. He frantically begins scanning the vicinity. He can’t see anything (or anyone for that matter), but he can still hear… _something_.

It was definitely a sort of breathless pant, but whether it’d been his imagination or some kind of wounded animal, he honestly can’t tell right now. He cautiously follows the direction of the strange noise; something in him is urging his feet forward, making him almost break into a run as the sound gets louder.

It isn’t until he gets closer to the spot he and the two teenagers stood a few nights previous that he realises why his body is driving him without much thought. He can now hear the heartbeat, thumping dangerously fast—racing. It’s human, and whoever it is, is in trouble. They’re struggling to breathe.

Derek’s instincts take over as he sprints the last few feet to where the human is but his heart skips in his chest, his body freezing as his eyes land on the figure. “Scott?”

The boy doesn’t look at Derek. Probably can’t hear him over his frantic wheezing. He’s sitting against a tree, clutching his chest, eyes screwed shut as he gulps in as much air as his body is allowing. Derek isn’t sure what to do. From here, it looks like the teen is dying but he can’t see any injuries, can’t smell any blood. A strong scent is wafting off him—distress and gut-wrenching agony. He knows that the teen’s body is somehow failing him; he just can’t get his brain to cooperate long enough for him to figure out why.

He snaps out of his stupor when the teen opens his eyes, noticing Derek standing there. Slowly his arm reaches out in a silent plea for help. Derek is crouched down beside the boy before he can even process the movement, grabbing onto his hand and instinctively pulling him into his chest, rubbing his back in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “Scott, wh-what’s going on? How… how do I help you? What do you need me to do?” Derek struggles to get his words out over the panic, his voice laced with concern, watching his mate’s best friend struggling to breathe and not knowing how to help is killing him.

That’s when it hits him.

_Asthma_.

One of his cousins suffered from the affliction, she’d been born human, and Derek can remember the time she’d an attack when she was out of breath from playing. He should have realised sooner.

“Shit, Scott, where’s your inhaler?”

“Lo-lost… it. Was… tr-trying to… find,” The boy barely manages to gasp out between deep gulping breaths.

“You lost it? What, _here?”_ Derek winces at the anger in his voice. The last thing the boy needs is someone scolding him, but in reality, he’s just really struggling to control his emotions at the moment. Stuck between crying out for help and just sitting there rocking the boy in his arms until all the answers hit him in the face.

Scott just nods at Derek’s question as tears start streaming down his face. Something in Derek stirs at seeing the boy in such distress. He tightens his grip, pulling the teen closer to him, he has to do something, but without his inhaler, he doesn’t know how to help him. He was just a boy when he’d seen the same thing happen to his cousin; she had her inhaler, so he never found out what would’ve happened if she hadn’t had it with her. Could she have died? What else could’ve been done if she hadn’t had her inhaler? All questions he wishes to the Gods he’d asked, but at the time he never would have imagined he’d actually need that sort of information like he desperately does now.

_Focus, Derek._

“Peter,” he whispers to himself. Peter will know what to do.

He reaches for his phone out of his back pocket, his hands shaking as he dials the number.

Thankfully, his uncle answers on the third ring, “If you aren’t ringing to tell me your secret, then I’m not-”

“Peter!” Derek interrupts; hoping his tone indicates enough to his uncle the urgency of the situation.

“What’s happened? Where are you? Are… are you hurt?” Peter instantly drops his sarcastic façade at Derek’s distress.

“Not me. Scott.”

“Scott? Who’s-”

“It doesn’t matter, he… he needs help. Please, Peter, I don’t know what to do.” Derek feels his heart-clenching, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he remembers how helpless he’d been the night of the fire, the same feeling he’s getting right now as he clutches at the blurred out body in his arms.

“Derek, I need you to listen to me. I need you to take a deep breath, sweetheart, can you do that for me?” Hearing his Alphas calming voice pushes him to obey. “I need you to calm down and tell me where you are.”

Derek takes another breath before he manages to answer. “In the preserve… ne-near the house.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll find you.” The line goes dead, and Derek drops his phone unceremoniously into the grass below him.

Through his panic, he hadn’t noticed the weight against him go limp—lifeless. “No, no, no, no… Scott? No, don’t die on me. Please, you can’t die on me.” He shakes the boy roughly to try to jolt him awake. When that proves useless, he leans in to put his ear to his chest. There is still a _beat_, but it’s faint, so faint that to a human it would be almost undetectable. “Shit. Scott, come on, wake up.” He knows it’s pointless, the boy is unconscious, but Derek has to fill the silence. His muttering the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely.

He lays the boy down on the forest floor, his nerves not allowing for anything gentle. He has to move quickly, has to try to keep the boy’s heart going—at least until Peter arrives. Being a werewolf and growing up among other werewolves’ means he’s never really had to worry about illnesses or injury, but he knows the basics. His mother taught him at least the foundations of first aid, but he was just a boy, he brushed off the information like she’d been talking in a foreign language.

Curse the younger him for not listening, for not taking it seriously. Something his mom told him then could help him now, but he’d just thought it pointless—_naïve child._

What he does remember, though, is the chest compressions. Maybe it isn’t so much as remembering it from when his mom told him but instead from seeing it performed on many TV shows and movies he’s watched over the years. Either way, he has to do something. Surely a half-assed attempt at CPR is better than nothing.

“C’mon Scott. Please,” Derek continues to mutter under his breath, starting up the steady rhythm of pushing his weight down in the middle of Scott’s chest.

He doesn’t even know if it’ll work; if it’ll even make a difference. Hell, he’s not even sure if he’ll just make it worse, but in this moment, he couldn’t confidently tell anyone who asked what day it is, never mind be able to process if he’s doing anything useful. His mind is a puddle, and he doesn’t rightly understand why. Since meeting Stiles, it seems everything has just gotten so much more sensitive.

Derek usually prides himself in his ability to cope under pressure, yes, his coping mechanisms often leave much to be desired, but he still usually manages. But, since discovering his mate, it’s just all gone to shit.

He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack, even after everything with his family, and right now he feels like he is waltzing dangerously close to the edge. All he can think of as he looks down at the body, lying unconscious beneath his hands is how helpless he’d been the day his family was murdered. Somehow, being back in these familiar woods, dealing with another life or death situation has just crippled his mind. He hadn’t had time to panic the day the rogue Alpha killed Laura, but right now, time is passing by him as slowly as can be. Like he has all the time in the world for his brain to punish him with the memories.

The scenery around him is just taking him back to that teenage boy standing in the shadows of the trees, frozen in place as the home he grew up in engulfed in a white-hot flame. The thick black smoke filled his lungs, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream. He just stood there while every single wolf and human in his family burned alive.

Not his whole family, Laura had been beside him, kneeling in the dirt, her claws raking up the ground below her. Her bones twisting and crunching as she used all her strength to fight the shift. Her eyes dancing between colours as the Alpha spark penetrated her soul, but still, Derek couldn’t fucking move.

It hadn’t been until a hand grabbed his wrist that he managed to snap out of his state. Someone had spoken to him, but he couldn’t focus, so he just followed the voice. Followed the anchor pulling him out of his haze._ ‘Derek.’_

“Laura?”

_‘Come on, Derek.’_

_No, not Laura._

“Derek!” The voice assaults his eardrums; he gasps out a breath as his mind snaps back to the present. He can no longer smell the smoke nor hear the screams, but instead, kneeling in front of him is his Alpha: red eyes and a concerned expression staring back at him. Derek can see his uncle’s mouth moving, but it’s as if he’s underwater. The words are muffled in his ears. He shakes his head and takes another breath, desperately trying to grasp onto the words caressing him. “Derek... breathe for me. That’s it... good boy. Breathe. You’re okay. I’m here now, you’re safe.”

“Peter?”

“That’s it.” The Alpha smiles wetly, relief washing over his features. “Just keep breathing for me. In and out.”

“Peter... Scott is he-”

“Don’t worry about Scott. Just listen to my heartbeat and breath with it, okay?” Derek realises at that moment that Peter is holding his hand to his chest, he can feel his Alphas heart beating, true and steady. He hones in on the sound, drowning out all other noises to really listen to the calming _thump. He’s_ always envied his uncles ability to stay calm in all situations, yet another reason why he’s the perfect Alpha.

“M’okay. I’m okay.”

Peter lets out a long breath, “Okay, sit against that tree while I figure out what to do.”

Derek hadn’t realised Peters free hand was around the back of his neck—soothing him—until that hand slips away. He’ll probably be embarrassed about the whimper that escapes his throat at the loss of contact, but right now he’s in desperate need of the touch.

“Shhh, you’re alright. I just have to help the boy, but I’m right here. I won’t go anywhere without you.” Peter soothes him while his hand slowly caresses his cheek.

Derek feels like a young boy again—relishing in the kind words and attention of his elders whenever he felt low. It calms him to remember certain things about his childhood, and it helps him at this moment to know he still has Peter, even after everything, he always has Peter.

“Yeah, help Scott,” Derek agrees. He’s still on his knees next to Scott’s body, so he carefully manoeuvres himself until his back connects with the tree trunk behind him.

His eyelids are heavy; it’s taking up a lot of his willpower not to just fall into a deep sleep—just to dream away the troubling thoughts and feelings plaguing him. But he can’t; Peter needs him, Scott needs him. “Is he... going to be okay?” Derek asks. He can feel himself drifting in and out, desperately fighting to keep his eyes open.

Peter looks back at him and noticing the dream-like state he’s in, smiles, a fond little curl to his lips. However, he doesn’t answer Derek’s question, and that sends a bolt of energy through his spine.

_Something isn’t right._

“Uncle?” Derek slowly straightens himself into a seating position against the tree; he hadn’t realised he’d slumped over to the side; he must’ve been more out of it than he’d thought.

Peters answering exhale of breath is enough to get Derek’s heart racing once again. “Hey, Hey, stop. Just calm down,” Peter is back to kneeling in front of him, giving Derek a clear view of the still unconscious boy lying on the forest floor.

“Is he...?” _Dead, _the word goes unspoken.

Peter’s face is unreadable, but his eyes betray his bravado. “He will be.”

“What? What the hell does that mean? We need to get him to the hospital.” Derek tries to get up from his position only to be kept in place by the substantial weight on his shoulder. “Peter, let me up. We can’t just let him die... please we have to help-”

“Derek, there is no helping him.” Peter interrupts. The look on his Alphas face is heart-breaking. Like saying those words are the last thing he ever wants to say.

“What... what do you mean?”

The hand on his shoulder tightens. A reassuring squeeze, or so it would have been had the next words not accompanied them. “His lungs have failed him, that much is obvious, and even with his inhaler, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Had there been someone with medical supplies in the vicinity from the very second he’d lost his breath then he may have been fine but... Derek, this attack, it wasn’t mild, and I suspect it hadn’t even started that way. I think the poor boy had no hope from the beginning.”

“But... surely something... ther-there must be some way. Peter, there has to be. It’s an asthma attack for fuck sake; surely something can be done. He can’t just die!”

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words take with them the very last string of composure Derek has. “No. No. This isn’t happening. It’s not happening, Peter. I won’t let him die.” He scrambles to get to his feet, but his fatigue hits him like a ton of bricks.

His uncle manages to get his arms around him before he hits the floor, cradling him to his chest, not loosening his grip no matter how intently he struggles to be free. “No, let me... let me go.” He twists and turns, kicking and pushing but to no avail. Peter’s strength is no match for him. “Why? Why the fuck does everything I touch die? Why, Peter? What the fuck have I done? What have I done?” Derek can’t hold back the cries that escape him as he finally surrenders to his Alphas embrace—grabbing onto his shirt until his knuckles turn white, the sobs wracking through his body making him shake uncontrollably.

“Derek-”

“Don’t.” Peter’s arms tighten around him. “I’m... sick... of hearing tha-that it’s not my fault.” His voice is no more than a whisper, the words spoken between hiccupping gulps of breath, but Peter hears him.

Silence falls between them. Derek can feel the pain seeping through his bond with Peter. The Alpha struggling with the fact that nothing can be done for Scott and having to sit by and watch as his Nephew, the only member of his pack, breaks down. Derek can feel the man’s hopelessness. Peter feels helpless, like a failure, and that’s what pulls Derek back. He can’t have the one constant strength in his life feeling like this is somehow his fault. If the responsibility lies with anyone, it’s him, but he can bottle that up, if only for the sake of his Alpha.

“What do we do now?” Derek asks. He doesn’t try to pull away from his uncle; he thinks the embrace may not be solely for his benefit.

“We call in an anonymous tip. We can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves. Not this soon anyway.”

“What? So, we just leave him here? In the cold?” Derek sits back so he can look in his uncle’s eyes. So he can see clearly his uncle’s expression. At that moment, he looks broken.

“There is nothing else we can do. The hospital can’t help him, Derek. His heartbeat is so weak that no human-machine will even manage to trace it. It’s only because of the Alpha spark that I’m even able to still detect it, even to you, he is already dead.”

_‘Alpha spark.’ _A solution hits Derek like a freight train; Peter visibly startles at his obvious eureka moment. “Bite him.” Derek’s gaze focusses on nothing as he goes through the idea in his head.

Why the fuck had he not thought of it sooner? Better yet, why hadn’t Peter suggested it? It’s the best solution. If the bite doesn’t take, the boy dies anyway; but, if it does take, which Derek is confident it will due to Peter’s strength as an Alpha, then the boy lives for one and for a bonus, it will add to their numbers.

They need a pack that much is clear. Even though they’ve discussed waiting until everything has truly settled before expanding; it won’t exactly be a hardship to take on a new wolf now—especially one young enough for Peter to be able to mould and teach without much issue. It’s definitely the answer.

“I... can’t.”

Derek’s eyes snap back to look at his uncle. “What? What do you mean you can’t? Of course you can, you’re the Alpha, and we need a pack and... Gods Peter, he’s dying!”

“Yes, I am aware of all that, but I can’t just go around biting teenagers without their consent. What if it doesn’t take, huh? Tell me that, Derek? It doesn’t take, and then there’s no hope of this boy’s body ever going back to his family, as he rightly deserves—as _they_ deserve. If we call in the tip now, at least his parents, friends, Hell, whoever the boys got can at least say goodbye. I bite him, it doesn’t take, and we have to burn the evidence. His family then spend however knows how many years looking for him, hoping he’s still out there somewhere, but really his ashes are scattered across the dirt. Could you live with that knowledge Derek? That you might walk into town tomorrow and all you hear is the name Scott on everyone’s lips, his face plastered across posters in every store, on every lamppost? All the while you know exactly where he is, and what happened to him, but you can’t say anything for fear that they find out exactly what you are, what _we_ are. I can’t risk that. I can’t risk your safety, Derek. I’m sorry.”

Derek remains silent, processing his uncle’s words. He’s grateful that his uncle is thinking of him, as he always is, his safety is paramount to his Alpha, and he never lets him forget it. But Derek can’t help the rage bubble up in his gut. To dismiss the idea so quickly, to just resign yourself to the notion that the boy is dead before his heart has even stopped just ignites something in Derek, he could at least try.

“Nephew. I can feel your anger, and I understand what this boy means to you. Means to your mate. I hadn’t realised when you called just who this boy was, but now I know, and I get it, I do. I just can’t risk it. We’ve been through too much, Derek. I don’t want to be in hiding for the rest of my life.”

At that, Derek’s rage leaves as quickly as it came. He’s being selfish. Peter always puts on this mask of sarcastic bravado, but that’s just what it is, a mask. He’s probably had no time to grieve properly, what with being in a coma, Laura’s death, becoming Alpha and all the pointless shit Derek’s been throwing his way ever since they were reunited. No matter how powerful he is, it must be taking its toll. Peter’s just better at keeping everything hidden. The Alpha must never show weakness, but what everyone (including Derek) forgets is the Alpha is still a being. He has a heart and soul the same as the rest, and it’s never been more evident than in this very moment that Peter is still just a man. A man who has lost his entire family just the same as Derek has, but has also had to deal with everything else on top of that.

Derek has never felt so selfish. “I’m sorry, Alpha.”

Peter can feel his emotions through their bond, and no matter what he himself is feeling, Derek always comes first. “Nothing to apologise for, pup.” His hand slides around Derek’s neck again, squeezing gently. All the tension leaves his body as he slumps into the hold.

~

After what feels like hours but may have only been a few seconds, Peter places his hands on either side of Derek’s face, lifting so he can look directly at him. He seems to be searching for something, Derek is about to ask for what when his uncle smiles, seemingly content with what he’s found. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Just promise me, Derek, if this doesn’t work, you will move on. Or... at least try? You can’t-”

“I promise.”

Peter says no more, just nods his head as he gets up, walking over to the body on the ground. The man was right, to Derek, the boy is dead. He can’t hear the faintest strum of a heartbeat as his Alpha can. He knows there’s a few minutes window between a human’s perception of death and an Alphas. According to the books Derek read on the supernatural, every single being has a short period between their hearts stopping and their soul leaving their bodies. It’s because of that little span of time that Peter can attempt to bring him back.

Once the soul has vacated the body, however, that’s when no matter how many Alpha’s or High Vampires try, nothing would be strong enough to bring the boy back. That is when it would be too late. Peter is cutting it rather fine if this is the case, but Derek doesn’t have it in him to look a gift horse in the mouth.

With one last look over his shoulder, Peter kneels beside the boy, lifting his limp arm to his face. Before Derek can even blink, the Alpha’s teeth sharpen to points and plunge into the flesh over the boy’s wrist. Derek hears the crunch of fangs piercing veins, tendons and bone. His werewolf hearing is really not seeming like much of a _gift_ right now.

Peters roar shakes the ground below them; birds scatter from the trees above, the sheer power behind the sound rattles Derek’s very core. His wolf gives him no warning before answering the Alpha with a howl of his own—instinct taking over in preparation for the possible new pack member. It’s somewhat like the ring of a bell at the end of a ritual, much like a druids closing-of-the-circle chant, or a witches cackle—well, maybe not—but it just feels _right_.

“Did... did it work?” Derek asks after taking a moment to revel in his bestial side.

“Too early to say. All we can do now is wait.” Peter answers, blood dripping from his mouth, down his chin.

“How long?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“I thought you knew everything.” That gets him a smirk, but the tension is still evident in Peter’s posture.

His uncle places one arm under the boy’s neck and the other under the teen’s knees, hauling him up bridle style.

“Where are you taking him?” Derek stumbles to his feet to follow wherever his Alpha is intent on going.

“Back to The Loft where he’ll at least be comfortable if all goes well, and if not... at least we’ll have him out of the open until we figure out what to do next.” Peter answers as he begins walking the direction out of the preserve towards the apartment.

Derek doesn’t reply, just follows dutifully behind as his uncle marches towards town. It’s already dark outside. He hadn’t realised just how long he’d been out here; he could have sworn it was light when he began his earlier patrol.

“Keep up, Nephew. We need to get him inside before we are seen.” Derek widens his strides to stay close to his Alpha.

The last thing they need is some human seeing them and asking questions, or worse, just going straight to the police. Here’s hoping the boy also stays immobile until they at least get inside, it wouldn’t do to have a newly turned wolf waking up in the middle of town. That would be the opposite of a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so warnings:
> 
> In this chapter, Scott has a very severe asthma attack—so severe that he practically dies. Also, Derek has a panic attack but I've tagged that. If this bothers you, please do not read as I am quite vivid in the descriptions. 
> 
> I personally have never had an asthma attack, and have never seen it happen. I am no doctor, no medical professional of any sort, so I'm not sure what it would take for someone with asthma to get to the point of actually dying, but let's just assume that whatever it is, it's happening to Scott. Basically, his situation is so severe that nothing a doctor could do would save his life, only the bite could save him now. 
> 
> I have, however, suffered a panic attack, and this is just my personal experience of how I come down from an attack or how I go when I'm having one. Not everyone's experiences are the same, so please remember that. 
> 
> If you read this and think I need to add more tags or warnings, please let me know. I want this to be safe for everyone, so don't hesitate to tell me if something bothers you or you think may bother others.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, more updates soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As luck would have it, they actually manage to get the boy back to The Loft without any issues. Colour Derek surprised. After all the shit that’s happened recently, he was sure something else would go tits up. Apparently, Mother Moon has decided he deserves a break.
> 
> Halle-fucking-lujah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy!

As luck would have it, they actually manage to get the boy back to The Loft without any issues. Colour Derek surprised. After all the shit that’s happened recently, he was sure something else would go tits up. Apparently, Mother Moon has decided he deserves a break.

_Halle-fucking-lujah._

Peter wastes no time in laying the boy down gently on their sofa, grabbing blankets to wrap him up and moving all the other furniture a safe distance away in case he wakes up. Then he just... relaxes. Grabbing a book, lounging back in his armchair, one leg crossed over the other, just sitting there as if nothing is amiss.

“Erm, what the fuck are you doing?” Derek asks, not fully believing what he’s witnessing.

Peter doesn’t even have the common decency to look up, just continues to read. “Waiting.”

“Seriously? How can you just sit there?”

Peter huffs as if Derek’s just sucked out his last modicum of patience; he drops the book in his lap a bit more dramatically than necessary. “What else do you wish me to do, Nephew? Sit by his feet and wipe his brow until something happens? No. If I’m going to be completely useless, I would much rather do it while relaxing comfortably, reading the next chapter of Prisoner of Azkaban, thank you very much.” He picks the book up again, making it clear that it’s not up for debate, nor will he be indulging his Nephew in any more talk.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Yes, quite.”

Derek huffs and flops down on the floor with his back against the sofa. His wolf clawing at him to protect his potential new pack-mate while he’s vulnerable.

His body is exhausted. As soon as he’s settled comfortably and is content that he’s in a stable position to fend off anyone who may cause the boy harm, he lets his head fall back, his wolf purring with the close proximity of pack. He lets his eyes close, not to sleep, his wolf won’t let him, but just to give himself at least the illusion of rest.

~

Derek isn’t exactly sure how long they’ve been sitting like this—waiting. Waiting on something to happen. Anything_._

For some reason—one that Derek doesn’t want to dwell on too prematurely—his wolf isn’t stirring. It isn’t restless or causing mass panic like he would have expected. He thought his wolf wouldn’t even have allowed him to sit here for so long without at least being a little bit of a pest, especially with the fate of a possible pack member hanging by a thread. Deep down, he prays it’s a sure sign, a confirmation of the bite taking, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up just yet. He’ll just relish in the peace his wolf is allowing him. But he still hopes that somehow his wolf just _knows_. It knows the boy has been turned and has already accepted him.

Derek lets his thoughts wander. He has nothing else to do in the silence so he may as well cast his mind back to the other night and just how beautiful his mate looked under the moonlight; his sweet honey scent, his innocent, soft touch and those lips. Gods those lips could bring all matter of man to their knees. Derek isn’t short on fantasy material, curtesy of his gorgeous boy, but the little snippets that he seems to favour all involve that sinful mouth and that tongue. Gods above, what he would give to see those plump, cherry lips stretched wide around his-

“What are you thinking about?”

Derek startles from his thoughts, eyelids flying open as he remembers where he is and who he’s with.

_Shit._

“Nothing interesting,” Derek lies, shaking his head to clear it.

“Oh, I beg to differ. Your scent tells a different story entirely,” Peter leers, he’s still sitting in the same position in his armchair, book in hand, not even looking up from the words on the page.

“I forgot I wasn’t alone.”

“Clearly.” Derek doesn’t need to look at his uncle to see the apparent amusement; he can hear the smirk loud and clear.

“Yes, well, fuck you for waking me up at the good part,” Derek comments petulantly as he crosses his arms over his chest, closing his eyes once again and settling back into the earlier peaceful silence. He hears his uncles amused chuckle before his ears pick up another sound... a third heartbeat.

He whips around quicker than he thought he could move and listens. “He’s alive.”

Peter drops his book on the floor at the same moment Derek turns to face the boy, he’s over by the arm of the sofa in an instant, running his fingers through the boy’s unruly locks, then checking his temperature before humming positively. “Well, it seems our pack has a new member.” Peter beams as he sits on the arm of the chair, near Scott’s head.

The first few hours of a newly turned wolf’s existence are absolutely crucial. Not only to the Beta but to the Alpha as well. Touch and scent are essential in guaranteeing a strong bond forming between the new wolf and his Alpha. For the next few hours, Peter will probably not leave the boys side and will casually brush his fingers over his skin or mark him with his scent until the boy is in a position to fully accept Peter as his leader.

“Do we need to do anything?” Derek asks. Energy is strumming through his veins; he needs to do something, anything—his wolf is beside itself with the new bond forming.

“Nothing we can really do until he wakes up, which could be soon or it could be hours yet. Let’s not forget that he was technically dead.” Peter looks at him with fondness; he can no doubt feel Derek’s restlessness through their bond; he must know better than anyone how Derek is feeling right now. “Relax, Nephew. There’s nothing we can do just yet... but, prepare yourself. Things may get a bit ugly when he does decide to open his eyes.”

Derek just nods, settling back on the floor to wait some more. How he’s supposed to prepare exactly, he doesn’t rightly know, but he’ll do whatever Peter needs. He’ll be here for him... him and Scott.

~

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding!” Derek shouts from behind the breakfast bar as he intermittently ducks to avoid the numerous flying objects aimed at his head. “Gods above, can’t deny the kids got aim.”

“Not helping, Nephew,” Peter grits out through his fangs.

“Forgive me, Alpha_,_ but you’re not the one getting priceless china vases lobbed at your fucking head!”

Peter has the gall to actually sigh. Like Derek is the one acting like a goddamn wild animal right now. “He thinks you’re a threat to his Alpha. Just... give him a chance.”

“Oh, yes, no problem,” Derek chirps with all the sarcasm he can muster. “Let me just stand here and allow him to throw shit at my head until he figures out that I’m not here to kill you.” He ducks again just in time to see their coffee table shatter to pieces against the wall behind him. Meh, he never cared for it anyways.

“Oh, stop being a drama queen, you’ll- wait... was that... was that my Italian coffee table?!” Peter gapes at the splintered wood now scattered across the floor behind Derek.

_Oh, so now he cares._

“That’s it!” Derek could swear Peter just grew a few inches taller, and possibly wider? Oh, he’s not amused. “Enough!_” _The Alpha’s voice bellows through the apartment, his eyes bleeding red, fangs and claws extending, there’s no denying that he’s not here to mess around.

The effect is instantaneous, Scott drops whatever innocent object he was about to throw as he scrambles to submit to his Alpha. The poor boy is trembling, whimpering as his eyes flash blue and he desperately kneels at Peter’s feet, exposing his throat to the older man. Derek can’t blame him, he feels the pull in his chest to do the same, but as the order wasn’t directed at him, he can push it aside—not without difficulty, a command that powerful is a force to be reckoned with.

His uncle softens as soon as the boy obeys, leaning forward to rub his scruff across the boy’s throat. The Alpha sign of _‘apology accepted’_. He also runs his fingers through Scott’s hair and cups his hand to the back of his neck, sending calming pheromones through the bond to settle the teen down. “Now. We won’t be needing any more of that, okay, Scott?”

“Yes, Alpha,” the boy replies without missing a beat. His eyes closing in contentment at Peters soothing gesture.

Derek smiles at the boy’s quick obedience to his Alpha. This may be easier than he thought. He goes to rise from where he is still behind the kitchen island but stops short as soon as he hears the warning growl.

“Now, Scott. That’s no way to treat your pack,” Peter scolds him, but his tone is playful, he’s probably amused at Derek’s expense.

At least the growling has stopped. “Sorry, Alpha.”

“That’s quite alright. I understand things don’t quite make sense right now, but I promise after a few hours, things will start to become a little clearer. You may not leave here with all your questions answered, but hopefully, you’ll have the basics.” Peter speaks slowly so as not to startle the boy.

At the moment, Scott is much like a new-born baby, except he can talk, walk and pretty much do everything as normal but his mind isn’t quite back to what it was before the bite. He’s like a blank slate, all yes Alpha, no Alpha, three bags full Alpha. Basically, just pure instinct. All Scott knows right now is the fierce need to protect and gain approval from his Alpha; everything else is just a threat or an inconvenience. He’ll gradually start remembering his life before the bite, but it does usually take a few hours, sometimes days in severe cases. They just have to keep him close and help him through it.

~

One of the hardest parts of this whole transition is the moment the new wolf wakes after the bite, as Scott has proved, the wolf is consumed by rage and fear and every other emotion bundled into one. They have all these new abilities but no idea why or how and it’s just confusing. Then they have this fierce need deep in their gut to do everything and anything this random stranger commands of them. A bond tugging at their soul, binding them to this being they’ve never met before, and suddenly they’ll jump through hoops to make them happy. It’s a wild ride.

The second most challenging part is definitely once the wolf comes back to themselves. That’s when Peter will have to start from the very beginning and explain absolutely everything in detail. Scott will most likely freak-out, maybe throw in a few colourful slurs and then calm down enough to ask all the questions no doubt consuming his conscious.

Well, that’s what is _supposed_ to happen. What actually happens isn’t as smooth sailing. Of course not, when has Derek’s life ever cut him any slack?

When Scott comes too, about three hours after his initial awakening, he is inconsolable. It casts Derek’s mind back to the first time they met when the boy had cowered in the shadows behind Stiles, saying very little and basically just shaking like a shitting dog. Nothing Peter is saying to the boy seems to be going in, it’s like going through one ear and straight out the other, nothing is registering. Peter has tried to explain the situation as calmly as he possibly can, but the boy reeks of fear. When he does speak, it’s hardly intelligent with how much his voice is breaking.

At least he’s ceased throwing things and is clearly in no mind to be violent—silver linings and all that.

The boy is convinced he’s been kidnapped. Keeps begging Peter not to hurt him. Keeps saying he hasn’t done anything wrong and he promises not to tell anyone if they just let him go. No matter how many times Peter explains that ‘_no, you’ve not been kidnapped’,_ and ‘_no, I would never hurt you’_, that _‘you’re pack and are free to leave whenever you wish’, _it just falls on deaf ears.

Peter is getting frustrated. Derek can feel it through the bonds, and that can’t be helping the terrified Beta if he can feel his Alphas emotions too.

“Hey, Scott. Just calm down. We are not going to hurt you. Just listen. We’re trying to explain everything, but you need to take a breath and just pay attention.” Derek decides to address the boy after standing on the side-lines, silently letting his Alpha deal with the issue at the man’s request.

Peter didn’t want to overwhelm the boy, which in normal circumstances would have been a noble idea but it just isn’t working. Peter could be at this all day and get nowhere, not that Derek has ever doubted his Alphas competency, not one bit, but it’s clear he just needs a little backup. It’s probably been a long time since Peter’s had to deal with newly bitten wolves, definitely not in Derek’s lifetime anyways.

Peter casts him a grateful look, something that says _‘thank you’_ without actually saying the words.

Scott calms slightly at Derek’s voice, but not much, just enough to actually speak clear enough for them to not have to squint. “Derek. I know you. You... you helped us: me, and... and Stiles. Please, I just want to go home. I-I don’t understand what’s- what’s happening to me?” He pleads, and Derek can’t help but feel sorry for him; those wide puppy dog eyes could charm the back legs off a donkey.

“You’re a werewolf, Scott. I know that makes no sense to you now, but if you just listen to us, I promise it will. We just want to help you. Trust me.” Derek slows down his words and never wavers in his eye contact. He even holds out his hands in an overt act of surrender so as not to startle the cornered animal any more than they already have.

The tension in Scott’s body eases a little. Derek can see the cogs clicking in his head as he thinks about it. He knows there’s every chance the boy will still flee, but at least he now seems to have taken in the brunt of the conversation. He’s a werewolf, Derek can see that he understands that now, maybe not entirely, but enough that it clears away even a portion of his fears.

“I’m a werewolf?” the boy whispers.

“Yes, and we are your pack,” Derek nods, gesturing to himself and his uncle, his voice still placating.

The teen straightens his posture from where he’d been cowered against the wall. “Can I please go home now?” he asks, with more clarity than he’s had the entire evening, still laced with fear and nervousness, but its progress.

“You were always free to leave, dear boy.” Peter is the one to answer him.

Derek can see the Alpha has deflated from his earlier frustration, most likely just disappointed at his newest pack mates reluctance to stay close to him. He looks exhausted.

“Thank you.”

Peter nods and gives a warm smile; he doesn’t try to advance on the Beta, just lets him leave without another word.

It isn’t until Derek knows the boy is out of earshot that he speaks up again. “Should we really be letting him leave? What if he goes on some sort of murder rampage? Or worse, goes to the police?”

Peter gives him a judgmental look, one that requires a raised eyebrow. “You really need to sort out your priorities.”

Derek just rolls his eyes. Is his uncle Ron Weasley-ing him right now? Fuck it; he isn’t going to bite. “You know what I meant. It doesn’t feel right to just... let him go.”

“I know.” Peter crosses the room to stand in front of Derek, placing his hand on the back of his neck for comfort. Derek hadn’t realised how much he needed that right now. “He will be back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The bond between an Alpha and his Betas is compelling, especially for a new and untrained wolf. He can’t physically ignore the pull for long, especially with the full moon only a few days away. He’ll most likely just run to wherever he feels safest and stay there until he calms down. He’ll come back.” Peter says it with such confidence that Derek doesn’t have it in him to keep arguing, he just nods his head and lets the silence wash over him.

Derek can’t deny how excited his wolf is with having a pack again. Even if everything isn’t going as planned, the bond is still tied. He just hopes to the Gods that Peter is right. He trusts him, but he’s still worried. He’s worried that the boy is out there harming himself (or others) and they’re doing nothing to stop it. He just prays Scott isn’t stupid enough to go to the cops. Derek really couldn’t hack having to move again. Especially now.

He’s had a taste of his mate, and he’s not prepared to let him go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek stands in his spot for a little while longer, just staring at the door. Part of him wishing the boy will come back, will knock on the door any second or just walk in without any warning. But, he knows that won’t happen. He heard the tyres of the boy’s jeep run over the gravel in the car park outside. He’s gone.
> 
> Well, for now at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to the Gods that this fic was only supposed to be like ten thousand words long. We are now over thirty thousand and pretty much only halfway. It will have an ending at some point, but at the moment I'm just enjoying this too much. I'll probably get bored around chapter twelve or so and maybe jump to the Steter fic I'm working on, but let's just relish in this little bout of productive-ness while it lasts. 
> 
> In other news, I will definitely be adding smut to the next chapter. I've put my foot down and decided that I've dragged this unresolved sexual tension thing on long enough. So, if you aren't happy with that outcome, I'd stop reading now because I like to get vivid!
> 
> I hope you like this. Stay tuned for more soon!

The familiar scent hits Derek long before the knock comes to their door. Peter looks up from where he’s sitting in his armchair nursing what seems like the Narnia of a cup of coffee. One of his eyebrows is raised in a silent question when he notices that Derek has practically frozen on the spot. Derek can hear his huff of breath before he watches his uncle saunter over to the door.

“Wait,” Derek hisses out through his clenched teeth, but it’s too late, Peter has already pushed aside their industrial roller door, unveiling a nervous-looking Stiles from behind it.

“Well, hello there. What brings a pretty thing like you to our humble doorstep?” Peter purrs, as he makes a show of leaning against the doorframe.

Derek would have rolled his eyes had he the necessary brain function to do so. He should also be surprised at his wolf’s lack of interference at his uncle’s flirtations, but again, his mind seems to have short-circuited. Stiles is here, in his den.

_Stiles. Is. Here._

“Erm, hi. I’m Stiles.” The boy cautiously thrusts out his hand in greeting, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. He’s restless, nervous, and with Peter leaning forward to curl his fingers around the boys offered hand, the pace picks up ever so slightly. Derek can’t decipher it, but with the smirk on Peter’s face, he knows exactly what the boy is feeling. And it’s amusing him.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Stiles." Gods above, Peter is a menace.

“Er, yeah, is Derek home?” Stiles asks, obviously uncomfortable, he pulls his hand back from Peter’s grasp, not unkindly but a bit eager.

Peter lets out a sort of chuckle, a breathy little thing that lets Derek know he will be in for a lot of teasing before the night is over. The older man steps out of the way to give Stiles a clear view into their apartment. A clear picture of Derek still standing in the middle of the room looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Please, come in, dear boy.” Peter gestures towards the sofa, “Make yourself at home.” He leans forward to whisper the last words directly into Stiles’ ear, and Derek’s wolf decides now is the time to _defend_.

Luckily, it’s just a soft growl, a warning, directed straight to his competition. Not that Peter is really competition, he’s just trying to wind Derek up (what he does best), but with his still fragile control after discovering the whole true mate’s thing, his wolf doesn’t care for the details.

“So, it’s true,” Stiles gasps, his face is taking on the picture of complete awe. “You’re a werewolf.”

Derek curses himself internally as he looks to his Alpha instinctively for guidance, of course, Peter just shrugs his shoulders and stays silent (first time for everything).

_Fucking dickhead._

“What are you talking about?” Derek quips with more calm in his voice than he thought himself capable. He may be able to blag himself out of this one.

“My best friend, Scott, whom you have met previously...” A beautiful blush creeps up the boy’s throat to cover his cheeks when both wolves’ gazes fall on him. Gods if Derek doesn’t want to just follow the colour with his tongue. “Told me this fascinating story about waking up yesterday being shadowed by you and some other... dude. Some cock and bull story about being bitten and other such nonsense. To be really honest, I thought he’d been sniffing something but, after he showed me the lovely pair of blue eyes he’s now sporting, it all clicked. Your eyes glowed blue too...” He points to Derek; it feels like an accusation. “That... that first night in the woods after you said my name. Then there’s the fact you continuously swear to the ‘_Gods’, _instead of just one single God and it all just kind of makes sense, so I thought I’d come over here to see what the fuck is going on, and you’ve just confirmed my suspicions even further, what with all the growling you just did.” Stiles takes a deep breath, obviously not aware that he’s just said all that without much of a break. He looks pleased with himself like he’s just solved a mystery.

“Clever boy,” Peter coos. “I must say, I am impressed. Not only did you connect all the dots but you also decided that you were brave enough, or perhaps stupid enough, to come over to the den of two possible supernatural creatures you know nothing about. Alone.” Peter is amused, not trying to put fear into the boy but instead just playing with his food.

“I-I, erm...” Stiles stutters, his face paling slightly. “I didn’t really think that far. In my defence, I’m a very firm believer in ‘_act now, ask questions later’_. No point in beating around the bush.” Stiles gives off a nervous laugh, he’s fidgeting and moving too much even to pretend he isn’t absolutely bricking himself.

“Peter quit it,” Derek snaps.

“Ah, so you’re Peter. The Alpha?” Stiles turns to face Peter in an instant. “Do your eyes actually go red?” Stiles’ emotions seem to change with the wind; his curiousness overshadowing his nerves as quick as Derek could click his fingers.

_Gods, this boy is a wonder._

Peter doesn’t dignify the question with an answer, just lets his eyes bleed scarlet. The smug satisfaction is pouring from him at Stiles’ little leap backwards.

“Christ on a bike. Is this all a dream? Am I going to wake up any minute now? Cause this... this is some weird-ass shit right here. Man, I thought Scott was going crazy.”

“Not a dream, dear boy. Just a very well-kept _secret_.” Peters tone is neutral, but Derek doesn’t miss the threat that his words imply.

“Hey man, my lips are sealed,” Stiles holds up his hands in resignation. “I promise. Wouldn’t even dream about pissing you guys off, no sir. Uhuh, nope. I am rather fond of all my limbs being attached to my body thankyouverymuch.”

Peter snorts at that and Derek can’t help the eye roll. They definitely have a lot to talk about.

“Well, I think I’ll leave you two to it,” Peter announces after a long, tense silence.

Stiles startles at Peter’s voice. “Wait... I have like... a shit ton of questions.”

“I am sure Derek can answer most of them, he’s not completely incompetent.” Peter winks towards his Nephew as he exits the apartment, letting the door slide closed behind him.

“Huh, he’s a weird one, isn’t he?” Stiles throws over his shoulder as soon as Peters out of sight.

Derek snorts. “He sure is.” A smug smile graces his lips. “He can also still hear you.”

“Oh, shit... _sorry_,” Stiles shouts his apology into the air, looking sheepish. He is utterly adorable.

Derek exhales a laugh as he rounds the sofa, making his way to the kitchen. “You want a drink?” he calls out from next to the refrigerator.

“Eh, sure.” Stiles is still hovering close to the door. His whole body strumming with energy. His heartbeat a little more steady than earlier but still not as calm as Derek would like.

“You can sit down, you know, I won’t bite... _hard_.”

“Was that- is that a joke?”

Derek smirks to himself before making his way back into the living room. The apartment’s pretty open plan on the bottom floor but the kitchen is still behind a half-wall which blocks any view into the kitchen from where Stiles now stands beside the sofa. In the corner is the spiral staircase up to the bedrooms, it’s all pretty basic, except for Peters insistent need to scatter random expensive touches, but it’s home enough for now.

Derek takes a second to look over at Stiles as the boy sits down. His earlier nerves seem to have calmed, but Derek’s lost count how many times the boy has rubbed the back of his neck or twiddled his finger in the hem of his shirt. He’s anxious about something, and Derek can’t help but think it isn’t the whole werewolf thing that is causing it. 

“Here.” He hands him a can of soda before taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, keeping a distance between them but still close enough that Derek can scent the emotions rolling off the boy. He won’t lie; he wants to know exactly how he’s making the teen feel.

“Thanks.” Stiles makes no move to open the drink, instead just rolls it around in his hands.

“So, what brings you here exactly?” Derek has to fill the silence, lest his mind wanders to dark and dangerous places.

Stiles looks for a second to be surprised by Derek’s question before his face smooths back over to blank. “Well... as I said before, I was woken up last night from a _very _interesting dream... oh my god, that’s irrelevant.” He blushes as he cuts off that train of thought. “I was woken up by my best friend ranting and raving that the weirdo from the woods...” He makes a motion towards Derek. Which,_ rude._ “And this other psycho had kidnapped him and turned him into a werewolf. You can imagine my surprise and utter disbelief, let me tell you. I’ve known Scott since we were toddlers and I’ve never seen him so frantic, but I still didn’t believe him. I mean, come on, _werewolves?”_

Derek just hums his affirmative, content in letting the boy finish his rant. It’s quite enjoyable just watching those long, softly toned arms gesture wildly, as those beautiful lips form words. Derek could happily sit back and just observe all evening.

“It wasn’t until I saw the eyes that I actually believed at least something in what he was saying might be true. Not that Scott is untrustworthy, I trust him with my life but, well, he can get a bit overdramatic.”

Derek huffs a laugh at that, remembering with a weird sort-of fondness his new pack mate’s behaviour upon awakening.

“Did you really kidnap him?” Stiles asks after a beat of silence.

“What? No. Of course not,” Derek answers indignantly. Derek is a lot of things but seriously, a kidnapper?

Stiles’ face takes on a relieved expression. “I didn’t think so. I just had to ask. So... then-” Stiles lets out a long exhale instead of finishing his sentence, letting his head fall into his hands, but Derek is sure he knows what the question was going to be.

“You want to know why Peter bit him.” It isn’t a question. It’s obvious; the kid is as curious as they come. Lord knows he’s already proved that numerous times before.

Stiles lifts his head and instead of answering just nods, not letting his gaze fall from him. Derek isn’t sure he can cope with that kind of intimacy, not with this conversation, so he stands and leans over against the adjacent wall instead.

“I found him in the woods. He’d been looking for his inhaler, but I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that he couldn’t catch his breath, and he was alone in the middle of the preserve.”

Stiles watches Derek intently, saying nothing.

“I didn’t know what to do. Wolves don’t get ill or sick, so this kind of thing was alien to me, I tried to comfort him as best I could, but nothing was working. So, I called Peter.” Derek can’t look at Stiles, doesn’t want to see whatever look is on his face. Probably disgust at Derek being such an idiot. He doesn’t even bother sniffing the air to give him any clues on what Stiles is feeling, he’s sure the boy will not be shy in voicing his opinions when Derek is finished.

He deliberately skips the parts where he had broken down. The boy doesn’t need to hear any of that. Derek doesn’t want to show himself as even weaker than he probably already is. “By the time Peter got to him, he said it was a lost cause. That the boy’s lungs had failed him, his heartbeat was so faint that not even your hospital’s machines could have brought him back.”

Derek hears a sharp intake of breath and forces himself to look at Stiles. He regrets it right away. He can see that the boy’s whiskey brown orbs are wet with unshed tears. The teen is trying to hold back, no doubt not wanting to cry in front of practically a stranger, but Derek can still see the upset in his eyes. His wolf whimpers at seeing his mate’s sadness; all he wants is to pull the boy into his embrace and comfort him until he forgot all about it.

Stiles has his head bowed slightly, probably trying to hide his emotions even more, but the moment he senses Derek is looking at him, he lifts his head once again. “You saved his life.” Stiles is so sure in that statement, Derek detects no hint of him believing otherwise. He isn’t sure what to say.

“I-I should have done more. Before it got that far.” He’s still intent on beating himself up about not getting the boy to a hospital sooner. Despite Peter insisting it wouldn’t have made a difference, Derek can’t brush off the feeling that he’s only saying that to stop Derek from feeling guilty. But it’s too late for that.

“I’m going to throttle that buffoon when I next see him,” Stiles chuckles after a second of silence, Derek looks up from where he’s staring at the pattern on the rug below his feet. Stiles’ amused tone confusing him. The boy is smiling. Albeit, his eyes are still glassy, but he just wipes his hand across them and turns his attention back to Derek, obvious amusement written across his face.

“I-I don’t follow?”

“You saved his goddamn stupid-ass life. He always did have a penchant for the dramatics, but this just takes the biscuit. He left before I could get the full story out of him. All I was told was that he woke up in some apartment he didn’t recognise with you, who he’s seen before, and some random dude saying he was an Alpha werewolf. He said that you kidnapped him and made him into a wolf and he didn’t know why. Then he showed me his eyes before bolting out my window. That’s why I came here—to get answers. At least more than what he had given me anyways.” Stiles explains.

“He wouldn’t calm down when he woke up; Peter decided it was best to let him cool down. The pull to your Alpha is too strong to ignore for long so Peter’s under no illusion that Scott will come back before the full moon. We tried to explain things. Well, Peter did, but he wouldn’t listen, just got frightened whenever we approached him. I wanted to go after him, the threat of our kind being found out is already too high, and I didn’t want him running around drawing attention to himself. A new wolf can be a dangerous thing. It’s not his fault, it’s just a lot to process. All the changes. Peter said he’d probably just go somewhere he feels safe and lay low for a while.” Derek hadn’t noticed that he’s pacing until he looks up to see he’s in a different spot than he’d been before and Stiles is watching his every move. Derek exhales as quietly as he can and slumps back against the wall. Arms crossed over his chest.

“He’s an idiot,” The boy smiles again. “But don’t worry. Peter was right in his assumption. I texted him before I came here, once I’d actually woken up properly, and asked if he’d done anything stupid to which he said no, that he’s just locked himself in his room. I told him to stay there until I go around later. I’ll make sure he doesn’t draw attention to himself. Or you. I’ll try to convince him to wise up and actually come here to talk to you; I think it’s probably the best for him.”

“Why?” The word is out of Derek’s mouth before he even processes that his lips are open.

“Why what?”

Derek isn’t really sure. _Why are you so cavalier about this? Why are you not angry with me? Why are you still sitting here looking at me like I’m not a predator? Why-_

“I could be lying to you. We could have kidnapped your friend. It would’ve been quite simple actually. But you’ve chosen to believe me. Why?”

Stiles assesses Derek for a second. He’s probably rolling the question around in his head before answering. “Since I’ve met you, I don’t think even in all our conversations that we’ve had put together would amount to the number of words that came out of your mouth just then. Correct me if I am wrong but had you wanted to lie to me, you probably would have said it in a lot fewer words. I, for one, ramble quite a bit when I’m lying, it’s an obvious tell, I actually ramble most of the time, when I’m nervous, scared... anyway, my point is that you’re the complete opposite. You don’t talk a lot, and not very often, but when you do, there is no reason for the words that come out of your mouth to be a lie. You’d rather just not say anything if that be the case.” Derek isn’t exactly sure at what point Stiles had stood up. Or when he’d walked across the room. Or at what point he’d entered Derek’s space and gotten close enough that he can feel his breath on his face as he speaks.

Derek was too focused on his words. Had been lulled into a state of mindlessness by the way Stiles describes him—like he knows him. He is the Sherriff’s son, so Derek is under no illusion that he’s learnt a few tricks of the trade over the years. But, the fact that he’s managed to get this close to him without him being aware is sort of unnerving. Pray to the Gods that he isn’t losing his control. Not again.

As the boy continues to speak, he also notices the teen’s voice has dropped, slowing down on every few words or so. “That, and also the fact you knew about Scott’s asthma. Not many people do, so...” Stiles’ trails off on that train of speech. Derek can now see that the blacks of his eyes have blown wide. “I’ve figured you out, Derek Hale...” His name drips off his mate’s tongue like fucking molasses. “And to answer your question directly, it’s because I trust you. God forgive any lapse in judgement I may have, but there’s just something about you, and I just don’t think you would ever hurt me.” Stiles’ lips are a hair’s breadth away from Derek’s, one slight twitch from either of them will have them touching.

Derek knows his eyes flash blue the moment he feels the ghosting touch of Stiles lips against his, the sweet smell of _mate_ consuming all his senses. Quicker than he can comprehend, his hands fist into the boy’s shirt, switching their positions. He slams Stiles against the wall with enough force to startle him, but only for a second.

“I’d be careful when baiting a wolf, Stiles. I could very easily rip your throat out... with my teeth,” he whispers into the boy’s neck, as he lets his fangs skim over the long, pale expanse of skin there. It’s taking everything in him not to mark that gorgeous milky flesh, to just close his mouth over his throat and suck until the most delicious coloured bruises form under his lips. He’s pretty confident the boy would let him, but he can wait. Wait until he has him begging for it.

Derek doesn’t fail to notice the shudder that runs through the teen’s body. Nothing but the scent of pure desire drifting off him. He lets his head roll back, giving Derek more access to run his stubble across his delicate skin. Not that the teen knows this, but it gives Derek more room to scent him. To make him smell like _mine_.

“Is that a promise?” It comes out no more than a gasp of breath, but Derek doesn’t fail to detect the hint of hope behind the boy’s evident desperation.

Derek sucks in a breath, lifting his gaze to look directly at Stiles. At the boy’s smug grin, his wolf lets out a low rumbling growl in the back of his throat. Relishing in the small whimper coming from his mate. “You’re going to be the death of me,” is all he says before crashing their mouths together.

It’s hungry. Frantic. Fierce. Much like their first kiss but somehow more urgent. More primal. No matter how many times he’s tried to remember, nothing compares to hearing first-hand the beautiful sounds that escape his mate’s mouth, sounds that he greedily devours with his lips and chases with his tongue.

Derek slips one of his hands into the boy’s hair, curling his fingers around a few strands and pulling, not enough to hurt but enough to make his intentions clear. The clever boy follows the gesture obediently, tilting his head back for Derek to have better access to his mouth. His other hand grabs a handful of the boy’s ass, pulling him in closer, so there’s not even a hint of space left between them.

Stiles breaks the kiss momentarily to let out a soft moan, the friction against him too much to ignore. His breathing is laboured, already panting with need. His lips bright red and swollen from the wolf’s primal ministrations. Derek takes the opportunity to focus his attention back on his mate’s throat, his jaw, his collarbone, just any sliver of skin he can reach without having to separate their bodies. Nipping and licking anything that is bare to him. He wants to taste every inch of this boy, to take him apart with his mouth, piece by precious piece until he’s a trembling mess beneath him. He wants to know every crease and crevice that he has to touch to make him shake; he wants to hear every single sound and know exactly what he needs to do to coax them out.

_But he’s a minor, _Derek tenses up at the voice in his head.

He can’t be doing this; he promised himself he would wait. The kiss the other night had been a step too far, he needed it to satiate his wolf and thought it had been enough, but right now, he can feel his control slipping. Can hear his wolf chanting _matebreedclaim_. He has to stop before it gets to the point of no return.

“We can’t,” Derek forces through his teeth. His head slumping forward onto Stiles’ shoulder. He makes no move to break apart, but the grip of his fists loosens, making it clear that he’s no longer holding Stiles in place.

Stiles doesn’t say anything, just lets out a sharp exhale and thumps his head against on the wall. His hands are still on Derek’s waist, holding him close but the grip has softened. “And why would that be?” he says it with as much casualness as he can probably muster, but Derek can hear the disappointment. The hurt.

Derek lifts his head. The last thing he wants is for Stiles to think this is because of him. Well, it is because of his age, but it isn’t because of _him_. He has no idea how much Derek wants him. How close he is to ruining the very concept of sex with anyone else in this very moment. He wants to destroy any possibility of this boy ever even thinking of anyone else’s hands on him, their mouth, their body.

But he shouldn’t. He won’t. Not yet.

“Stiles... you’re seventeen.” His eyes lock on Stiles’, his hand that’d been in the boy’s hair now cupping his jaw.

“Little bit late to be taking the moral high ground, don’t you think?” It’s said with a laugh, a sad thing but Derek can see that he isn’t mad. Just disappointed. Derek can live with that, as long as he doesn’t feel rejected. Unwanted. That is so far from the truth.

“Probably. But, with the things I was planning on doing to you, I think it’s pretty safe to say, I’m more of a saint now than I would have been by the end of the night.”

Stiles groans. “Dude, don’t stop me halfway to orgasm and then say shit like that when you’ve made it clear you’ll not be doing anything about it. No fair.” His voice is back to normal now if not a few octaves higher. He’s pouting—just one more adorable feature of his.

“Halfway?” Derek teases with a smirk, one that possibly resembles too much like Peters.

“I’m a teenager and a virgin. It doesn’t take much,” he admits, and Derek sees the moment he registers what he’s just said. His eyes close in a distinct ‘_did I honestly just say that?’_ motion, his lips forming a thin line as if it will stop him saying anything further. That wonderful pink tinge is back across his cheeks too; it goes well with the stubble burn he has across his throat.

Derek chuckles, leaning in to place a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of the boy’s mouth. He moves his lips towards his ear, lowering his voice to a purr, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s at that moment that Peter decides to ascend the stairs to their top floor apartment. Derek growls low in his throat, moving away from Stiles in an instant. His uncle slides open the door without as much as a courtesy knock. “Now, now, Derek. Had I suspected anything to be going on, I never would have come in, but I see you’ve either already gotten it out of your system or aren’t bothering, so, I’d rather not be exiled from my own home longer than necessary.”

“You were listening,” Derek grits out through teeth that are too long to be human when a gentle hand cups his face.

“Hey, wolfy. It’s okay,” Stiles’ voice is soft. Careful. Calming. Derek’s never felt his rage dissipate so fast in as long as he can remember. A single touch from his mate has grounded him more swiftly than any soothing gesture from his mother, or his Alpha. It renders him speechless.

“As much as I like to tease you about your sex life, dear Nephew, or lack thereof, I’d really rather not listen in on it. I may be a kinky bastard, but I’m not a pervert.” His uncle says as he places some bags on the floor beside the door. Groceries.

Stiles snorts at his uncle’s statement. Derek thinks if given a chance, these two could probably get along very quickly. With what little he knows of Stiles’ style of humour, it isn’t that different to Peter’s. No doubt, in time, they will form a pact and strive to make his life a living hell.

“Well, you didn’t miss much anyway, but I’m sure we can let you know the next time we decide to hook up. How does next Friday suit you both?” Stiles throws back. The sarky little shit is never going to be boring, that’s for sure.

Derek can see Peter’s lips curl in an impressed smile. He’s sold. “I have a feeling, dear boy, that we will get along just splendidly.” They share a knowing smirk, an acceptance in Peter’s language.

Peter has many different smiles, smirks and expressions that to the untrained eye may look the same but to Derek, who has known Peter long enough to be able to decipher each one, they all have their own meaning. Since wolves have heightened senses, they are rather good at reading expressions, talking without words. Derek concludes that Stiles may not be so different, the animation in his expressions make it quite easy to tell his emotion, even without werewolf senses. After the decoding he did of Derek’s inability to lie to him earlier, he’s sure the boy will be an expert at reading people as well as any wolf. 

“Well, it was very nice meeting you both. Meeting you again? Oh, you know what I mean. I’m gonna head home, and I’ll see you later? Or not. Whatever.” He’s rambling again. “Bye.” He gives an awkward half-wave then turns to leave, but Derek grabs his wrist before he gets too far and pulls him back to him. At Stiles’ startled gasp he smiles fondly while moving his free hand to the back of the boys head, slowly he closes the distance between them until his lips press against his mates, one last time. A promise.

“I’ll see you later, Stiles,” Derek speaks against his mouth once he’s pulled back. Letting his hands fall from their places on the teen before taking a step back, giving him the space to refocus.

“Yeah. Okay.” Is all the boy can muster before turning on his heel and leaving, giving Peter a nod before sliding the door closed behind him.

Derek watches him leave with a longing that he feels deep in the pit of his stomach. His wolf is howling at him to chase after his mate, but he ignores its call.

“I don’t know what you were worrying about, dear nephew.” Peter begins and with Derek’s hum to continue, he adds, “Your control is absolutely impeccable if you are even able to consider letting that beauty leave here with that obviously _very_ painful hard-on.”

Derek rolls his eyes and puffs out an exaggerated breath, but there’s no heat behind the gesture. “Don’t be shy, uncle. Say what you feel. Please, don’t hold back on my account,” he offers dryly, giving his uncle a pointed look.

“What did I tell you about sarcasm, Derek?” Peter points his finger at him accusingly, proceeding to pick up the groceries and strut himself through to the kitchen.

Derek stands in his spot for a little while longer, just staring at the door. Part of him wishing the boy will come back, will knock on the door any second or just walk in without any warning. But, he knows that won’t happen. He heard the tyres of the boy’s jeep run over the gravel in the car park outside. He’s gone.

Well, for now at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His whole body freezes in an instant as his mate’s heartbeat picks up speed. How the fuck he’s able to even hear anything over the noise pumping away in his ears is just more proof that Derek’s life is a goddamn comedy special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will start by saying I am very sorry for how long this has taken to update. I lost interest for a while 'cause I struggle like shit to write smut and to be honest, it's a real weak point for me. I just gave up trying basically, but I've been hit with a random wave of creativity, so I'm going to try my best to get this and my Steter fic completed in the next few weeks. 
> 
> I have, unfortunately, been sent home from work today for God knows how long until this whole shitstorm blows over, so, I may have months of doing absolutely nothing apart from finishing my writings. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this as I really did try my best; it may not be great, so please be gentle with me—I am learning. It is very short, and basically just smut.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me!

Derek couldn’t confidently tell anyone who asks at what point he thought it acceptable to be standing outside a minors open window with every intention of crawling through it. He could quite possibly blame it all on Peter. The older wolf hasn’t stopped with his encouragements ever since the boy left The Loft earlier that day. He can’t quite grasp the concept that Derek is planning on waiting to do anything remotely sexual with the teen until he is of legal age. The fact that Peter is so reluctant to agree with Derek’s plan should probably worry him more than it does. Peter’s harmless, but he definitely isn’t budging with his _‘fuck the consequences’_ attitude.

Peter has spent the entire afternoon, weighing up the pros and cons of Derek just having his way with the boy like he so desperately wants too.

_Thanks for that assessment, Uncle._

Derek’s more than pretty sure there were more cons on that list than pros, but Peter was adamant not to let that deter his argument for the cause. The man has taken it upon himself to be Derek’s wingman—something Derek isn’t even dignifying with a reaction; he doesn’t need help getting laid, _thankyouverymuch__._

Derek fought his corner valiantly—well, he had tried to. But when one’s wolf is agreeing with everything his Alpha is saying, it’s a lost cause. It’s pretty tricky winning a war against just one enemy, so two is just a ball ache. To be fair to him, Peter made a rather convincing argument, but he always does. He’s a master manipulator; he has no trouble conning people into not only believing his every word but also making them think they were the ones who came up with the idea in the first place. It’s what rescues him from the brunt of the problems he faces daily. Being the Alpha of the most prestigious pack in Beacon Hills means he has his fair share of trouble which he has to charm his way out of. 

At the end of the day, had Derek been a better man he would have had no issue practising what he preaches, but that seems to be the majority of the problem. He isn’t a better man nor, as it appears, is he a particularly good one. And that, along with all his uncles nagging, is primarily the reason why he is now preparing himself to take the two-storey leap into his mate’s bedroom.

Derek makes the jump with no issue and minimal sound. He’s light on his feet; it’s one of the many perks of being a born wolf. He perches himself on the window ledge. His mate is currently sitting at his desk on the opposite side of the room—back to the window. It gives Derek the perfect opportunity to lower himself into the room without being detected. Not that he wants to surprise his mate, or act the creeper more than necessary, he just wants the chance to watch him for a little while before interrupting what looks to be a very intense study session.

The boy has headphones on, David Bowie’s Blue Jean blaring into his ears, which gives Derek the cover he needs just to observe.

Had Derek not already known it, he would have seen at this moment exactly how expressive the teen actually is. His face is contorting into every manner of expression as he scrolls through page after page on the internet, occasionally stopping to write down the odd bit of information into his notebook. The odd curse and litany of _hum’s_ and _ha’s _spill from his lips when he doesn’t understand something or is in awe of what he’s found. Derek can’t see what he’s looking up, but it’s clearly interesting.

He decides to move away from the window, stalking his way around the room, keeping to the shadows mostly by coincidence as he eyes his surroundings. The place is a mess. Clothes litter the floor, an assortment of books laying open and scattered in no particular order across the entire space. But that doesn’t deter Derek as no matter the state of the place; the air is a thick, comforting blanket of _mate_.

His nostrils flare at the scent; breathing in as much of the sweet aroma as his lungs can cope with, letting it overpower his wolves’ constant thrum of desperate want. It calms the primal urge inside him to just take. But he can’t lie, from the closeness of his mate and the honeyed sweetness of his scent, a spark of desire flames deep in his gut burning its way down in a steady hum—straight to his cock.

_Crash._

Derek’s attention snaps to the lamp now lying shattered at his feet. In his lack of concentration, he walked right into the chest of drawers against the wall, obviously hard enough to render the lamp no longer capable of staying upright.

His whole body freezes in an instant as his mate’s heartbeat picks up speed. How the fuck he’s able to even hear anything over the noise pumping away in his ears is just more proof that Derek’s life is a goddamn comedy special.

Stiles rips off his headphones before turning his chair almost comically slow toward the culprit of the sound. Derek braces himself.

_Three...Two...One..._

“What the fuck?!” The scream that follows is not unlike the one from their first encounter in the woods, but with the space around them being a lot more confined, it batters through Derek’s eardrums like a goddamn motherfucker. 

“Stiles! Mother of the Gods, stop screeching!” Derek hisses through clenched teeth as his hands do their best to protect his hearing from the brunt the blast. He stumbles forward, chasing after the dim light in the centre of the room in hopes of better illuminating his familiar features. 

“_Derek_?” Stiles questions, breathless. “Are you fucking- are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you absolute dickhead!” The noise has stopped at least, but the boy is making a show of not using his inside voice.

“Stiles, calm down. Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Derek offers, trying to appease the terrified teen.

“Didn’t mean to- Really, Derek? Really?” The teen chuckles dryly. “What exactly did you think would happen when you snuck in here and crept around in the shadows like a... like a fucking creeper?” His heartbeat is through the roof, and he’s clutching his chest like the speed of it is physically hurting him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t... I don’t know what I was thinking. I sometimes forget that humans don’t have the same senses. I just wanted to- Oh, I dunno. I’m sorry.” Derek runs his hand over the back of his neck. Is he nervous? Embarrassed?

_Hell, this is new._

A few seconds of silence pass between them. Stiles puts his head in his hands as he works on catching his breath. His heart has slowed considerably, and he no longer looks as if he’s about to skin Derek alive, so that has to be a plus.

Stiles drops his hands, looking up at Derek without really lifting his head. “Look, I’m not mad that you came by... but just so you know, for future reference, I have this wonderful invention called a front door. It has a bell and everything; it’s magical really. So, yeah, just use that, please, for the sake of my fragile human heart if nothing else.” 

Derek rolls his eyes at the teen’s quip, but he can’t help the curl that graces his lips as he nods his affirmative—not failing to notice the _‘for future’ _in there.

“And I’m sorry for shouting at you and calling you an idiot.”

“You didn’t call me an idiot,” Derek deadpans.

“Didn’t I?” Stiles looks confused and a little mortified.

“Nope, you called me a dickhead and a creeper. Never said anything about an idiot... But thanks anyway.” He isn’t going to argue, he may not feel like the creeper part is strictly true, but the rest he can agree with.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry,” Stiles says genuinely, not looking at Derek but instead at his feet. “I just didn’t expect to see you again,” he admits as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Not so soon, anyway.”

Derek isn’t sure what to say to that. His mate doesn’t smell disappointed with his presence, quite the opposite actually. Now that his fear has dissipated, he just seems his usual anxious self but with an undertone of excitement: hope and curiosity. “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No. No, please stay.” With how quickly he snaps his head up along with the shaking in his legs, it seems as if he’s about to tackle Derek to keep him here. “I-I mean, that’s if you want to. I don’t want to forc-”

“I wouldn’t have come in the first place if I didn’t want to be here, Stiles.” Derek interrupts before the boy can work himself up.

“Okay... good.” A blinding smile lights up the boy’s face as if Derek has just given him the whole world. “So, what... what can I help you with? I mean, why are you here?”

Derek isn’t entirely prepared for that question; it’s not that he doesn’t know why he’s here. He just doesn’t want to straight-up admit that it’s because he’s hoping for his mate to ride him until he passes out. “What are you researching?”

_Good save._

“Oh... erm. Well, I thought I’d do some research into the supernatural. Werewolves, really. I’m not sure how much of this is bullshit and how much is accurate, but I just wanted to write down some stuff at least so I could- I dunno.” The boy shrugs sheepishly as if Derek will laugh at him for seeking out the knowledge. “I just wanted to know you better. I-I’d like to know more about you.” It’s said almost as a whisper, but Derek hears. His mate wants to know him_._

“Peter and I would be more than willing to help you if you’re stuck.” The smile he gets for that is worth the no doubt countless hours he’ll now spend answering all of his mate’s most inane questions. “But, you might want to give up with Google. Most of what you find on there is just fairy-tale, some of it can be somewhat stretched versions of the truth, but you’re better with books or first-hand accounts. If you truly want to know more about our kind, and other things supernatural, then I can lend you some of the tomes from our family vault. As long as you promise to take care of them, they’re pretty ancient.”

“Oh my god, really?” Stiles almost screeches. “Yes, I-I promise I’ll be careful. Thank you, a thousand times, thank you. You would honestly do that? I mean, won’t Peter mind?” The boy is now standing, his excitement taking control of his limbs.

“Peter likes you. He’s already convinced you’re halfway to being part of the pack so no, he won’t mind. He’s just the same as you; he’ll do almost anything for the chance to learn new things, even though he thinks he already knows everything.” Derek huffs out a laugh, Peter really is a know-it-all but with good reason—it’s sometimes infuriating.

Stiles is looking at Derek like he can’t believe how lucky he is. At this moment, Derek promises to do everything in his power to see that expression on his mate’s face as often as possible. “He... he thinks I’m pack?”

Derek’s shoulder tense—has he said too much? He doesn’t speak, just nods waiting for the boy’s reaction.

“That’s... wow. I’m honoured, but... I’m human?”

“Humans can be pack too. It’s just a bit more complicated_, _but it still happens. Occasionally and under certain circumstances.” Derek answers, trying to keep his tone casual so as not to overwhelm the boy.

The teen just smiles, nodding in understanding. “Okay. Well, thank you. That means a lot.” He breathes out a laugh like he still isn’t sure whether this is all a dream or a reality. It’s as if this whole situation is the craziest thing he’s ever encountered. Well, it probably is, but he still doesn’t seem reluctant. If anything he’s even keener now than he had been back at The Loft.

Never once has he displayed anything other than acceptance. He’s just found out that werewolves are real and he just seems to be taking it in his stride. Instead of the usual shouting and screaming, he’s sitting in his room researching as much as he can on Derek’s kind and not shying away from the possibility of learning more from an actual source.

Most people would’ve run for the hills by now, or in Derek’s experience, murdered his entire family, but Stiles isn’t even remotely like that. Stiles is kind and funny and loving and just perfect. While he may lack some serious self-preservation skills, he has a heart of gold—not _silver_.

He’s everything Kate will never be, and more. He’s pure and good and-

_He. Is. Not. Kate. _

A low rumbling growl vibrates through his chest. He won’t let this boy slip through his fingers, even if it kills him. Stiles is his true mate, and he’ll be damned if he pushes him away with his own stupidity. Tonight, he intends to make his intentions crystal clear.

Derek crosses the room in no more than three strides, pulling his mate close and swallowing any squeal of surprise that falls from the boy’s mouth. He’ll never get tired of this; the taste is intoxicating. Stiles is the antidote to the poison that is his desperate desire.

“Wait,” Stiles gasps out, already sounding breathless. Derek pauses in his ministrations instantly, his body flinching backwards as if burned.

His control is slipping, he’s close to vibrating out of his skin, but if the teen isn’t ready, he’ll force himself to leave now while he still has some form of wits about him. “What’s wrong, did I hurt you?” He searches the boy’s face for any signs of discomfort. “Look, if you aren’t ready for this, I can-”

“No, no,” Stiles interrupts, quick to assure him. “I just... I just don’t want you to stop again. Like last time.”

Derek grins, something wolfish. “Oh, baby, I don’t plan on stopping,” he croons as his hand cups the side of the boy’s throat. His thumb tips his chin upwards, so the teen has no choice but to look at him while he speaks. “I intend to kiss you until you can barely breathe.” He brings his lips close to his mates, not close enough to touch but close enough for his breath to ghost hot and insistent over the boy’s swollen mouth. “To tease you with my mouth and teeth until you _beg_ me to let you come.” Stiles lets out something close to a whimper and doesn’t that just snap the very last of Derek’s resolve. “Gods, Stiles.”

Derek growls, pressing his body even closer to the teens, his thigh now placed between the boy’s legs—trapping him against the wall. He takes each of the boy’s wrists in his hands and pins them at each side of his head. “I don’t want to stop until your body is trembling beneath me.” He lets his eyes bleed their inhuman Beta blue. His next few words slur between teeth that are just a little too sharp to be human. “I. Want. To. Take. You. Apart.”

For a second, Derek thinks he’s broken the human. In the months he’s known the teen, he has never had him speechless. Who’d have thought it possible?

“Fuck,” Stiles drags out the curse, all the breath he’s been holding leaving his lungs at once. “This can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s very real, and all I need is your consent, and we can get started.” Derek stares at the boy, mouth so close to his lips that he can almost taste the rich, musky scent rolling off him. But he won’t touch, not until he gets an affirmative. 

“I... yes. Yes, let’s do that,” Stiles nods his head frantically before closing the gap once again between their mouths, licking his way past Derek’s lips in an uncoordinated battle for contact. That’s all the permission Derek needs to finally let go.

Derek puts everything he has into this kiss, proving to the boy that he has no plan on stopping; tongue plundering as he swallows down all the desperate noises his mate makes. A carnal need to map out every crevice of the boy’s mouth overwhelming his senses.

It doesn’t take long before the teen is breaking his lips away, taking in desperate gulps of air, panting breathlessly. Derek can’t help the smug grin he hides against his mate’s neck. He presses his leg in tighter to the boy’s body, revelling in the guttural moan that he gets for giving him some much-needed friction where he craves it.

Derek releases the boy’s wrists to grab onto his ass, pulling and encouraging the teen to rut against him. He smiles as his mate, without a second thought, starts rolling his hips, rocking into Derek eagerly with his head thrown back in pleasure. Giving Derek much better access to his throat. “Can I mark you?” he mumbles as he plants gentle kisses along the flesh he so desperately wants to turn a beautiful shade of purple.

“God, yes,” Stiles groans, the delicious scent of his arousal hitting Derek at full force. “Bite me, bruise me, mark me; I don’t care.” 

Derek rumbles low in his throat; his mate likes it rough, likes it hard. Derek will have no problem complying. “Oh, baby, you’re so fucking perfect for me,” he purrs as he latches his mouth onto the boy’s neck, almost possessively. He closes his lips over Stiles’ pulse-point, where the mating bite will be and sucks a livid bruise into the pale skin. The boy whines and Derek can smell his cock leaking in his jeans.

He should probably be taking this slow, be gentle and loving. Take his mate apart at a glacial pace until he’s a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him, but at this point, they’re both too riled up for that. This moment calls for quick and dirty, a release from all the pent up frustration, all the unresolved sexual tension. There will always be next time and, of course, the claiming—the night he plans to fuck his mate until he can’t walk. Until the only word he can confidently remember is Derek’s name. But tonight isn’t the night for that; tonight is about showing Stiles that he wants him, that he desires him above all else.

Derek hopes he has a whole lifetime ahead of him to make love to his mate, but right now, he just wants to see the boy shake with pleasure.

Derek slides his hands further down to the boy’s thighs and lifts. His werewolf strength taking the weight with ease. Stiles lets out something between a squeal and a grunt, surprised at Derek changing the position, but his body subconsciously gets with the program. He wraps his legs firmly around Derek’s waist, holding on tight.

Derek keeps the boy pressed against the wall, he buries his face into the crook of Stiles’ shoulder, muffling his groan from the spark of pleasure running through him, right to his toes.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is rough, already wrecked with the all-consuming feeling of everything that is his _mate_. Their scents are mingling in the air, wrapping around him, chocking him with its cloying intensity.

“I-” Stiles cuts himself off with a groan as Derek squeezes the soft globes in his hands.

Derek takes one hand away from his mate’s ass in favour of trailing it over the boy’s smooth, lightly toned stomach, feeling the muscles ripple and tense under his touch. He only stops his movement when he reaches his ultimate destination—the delightfully soft nub on his mate’s chest.

Stiles cants his hips, arching his back when Derek’s fingers lightly caress his nipple. Derek’s wolf rumbles in his chest, a deep growl purring under his breath. Gods, does he want to get his mouth on it; see precisely what sounds he can pull from the boy. It’s only then that he realises nothing is stopping him. Not anymore.

In an instant he has his mate’s t-shirt hiked up with one hand and taking no time to ponder, he dives down and licks a sloppy wet stripe up the teen’s bare chest.

Stiles moans wantonly as Derek’s tongue skates over his sensitive skin, now desperately rolling his hips—craving as much sensation as possible. “Derek... Derek, please.” Derek’s wolf preens at the sobbing lilt to his mate’s voice.

“What do you need, baby? Tell me.” His breath dances over the damp flesh beneath him. He watches, entranced, as goosebumps begin tingling to the surface, the boy’s breath hitching at the tickle of his nipples hardening under Derek’s gaze.

“I need- please, I need your mouth.” Stiles is almost incoherent already, and it makes Derek smirk. Without any more pre-empting, he takes the rosy pink bud into his mouth and sucks, _hard_. The sound that leaves Stiles’ lips is nothing less than pornographic.

As he stays latched onto one, nipping and biting, he trails his hand up the boy’s torso to play with the other. Derek relishes in the litany of curses and broken off versions of his name that follow as he continues to abuse Stiles’ nipples until he’s sure they’re red and swollen. He has no doubt he could make the boy come just with this, and Gods he’s close, Derek can smell it, but not today. Today, Derek won’t be content unless the teen’s release seeps into his skin, his wolf restless with the need to combine its mate’s most concentrated scent with his own. A silent claim. 

Stiles whines when Derek moves away from his chest, but it’s replaced quickly with a hiss as his shirt drops, falling roughly against his bruised skin. He pulls the boy impossibly closer, restricting his mate’s movements. He chuckles at Stiles’ reaction, his hips fighting frantically—uselessly—against Derek’s superior strength.

“Please, Derek. Please don’t stop, I’m begging you,” Stiles whines and if that’s not just music to Derek’s ears.

“Oh, I know you are, and you are doing it so beautifully, baby, but I want to see your face as you come undone.” In one swift movement, he has Stiles’ jeans open. “You’re so close, aren’t you Stiles? Gods, I can smell it on you. So, close to the edge, I can almost taste it. I bet I could have gotten you there with just biting and kissing you, huh? Could have had you writhing and trembling without even touching your cock.”

“Please.”

He slides one hand over his boy’s boxers, palming the twitching length through the fabric. He moves his hand up the clothed shaft, his thumb pressing down on the wet patch at the tip. “Maybe next time I’ll take you apart slowly.” Derek watches Stiles quiver with his teasing, shaking with his need to come. “Touch and taste every part of you, tease you until you can’t take anymore; until you’re sobbing. But not right now, no, right now I need to feel you... need to _see_ you.” Derek leans his hips back a little to give himself more room to get his hand under the last remaining barrier. “Come for me, Stiles”

As soon as Derek’s hand makes firm contact with his hard, weeping length, Stiles comes—Derek’s name a breathy moan on his lips. At feeling the boy’s cock pulsing in his palm, Derek groans into Stiles’ mouth; the smell of his mate’s release, the sight of the boy shivering and the incoherent whimpers push him over the edge.

He’ll probably be embarrassed about literally coming in his pants later, but right now he doesn’t care. He can’t describe how overwhelming the feeling is being the only one to have ever seen the teen in this state of pure bliss—hopefully, the only one—and to be the cause of it.

As Stiles trembles, his sinful mouth falls open in a silent scream—finally unable to form words. Derek watches his face, slack and washed out with pleasure as he rubs his hand gently over the still twitching length, milking his mate for everything he has.

When the teen whines from overstimulation, only then does he ease up, but he doesn’t take his hand away entirely, he just allows himself a moment to breathe through his own tremors.

“’m sorry.”

Derek snaps his head up from where he let it loll onto his mate’s shoulder. “What for?” he asks, confused and a little startled.

“I couldn’t last,” Stiles’ face reddens with the tell-tale signs of embarrassment, but Derek assumes he’s too high on euphoria to actually care about it. 

Derek breathes out a sigh of relief, chuckling as he does so. “Oh baby, you don’t ever have to apologise for that.” He kisses the side of his mate’s lax mouth, soft and tender. “You never have to apologise for anything like that.”

Stiles smiles; dopey and sex drunk, and he can’t help mirroring the gesture. 

Derek carefully takes his hand out of Stiles’ jeans and holds the glistening digits up into view. Before Stiles can protest, Derek brings his palm up to his mouth and takes a hearty lick up his palm. His wolf purrs, delighted with the salty tang bursting across his tongue as he greedily sucks every drop of release off his fingers.

Stiles makes a chocked noise in the back of his throat, and Derek doesn’t miss the renewed scent of arousal washing off him. “That... that should not be as hot as it is,” he groans, watching Derek with something close to awe.

“You taste incredible,” Derek moans, an entirely too wolfish grin across his face.

“Derek, I know that I’m a teenager, with a teenager’s libido, but Christ, you’re killing me here. Give me a chance to regenerate before you start doing, and saying_,_ shit like that,” Stiles huffs—it’s adorable.

“Well, you’re obviously not in too much need of regeneration if you can still talk in complete sentences,” Derek comments, raising his eyebrow accusingly.

“You’ll have to fuck me into the mattress before you can ever even hope of rendering me_ completely_ speechless.” Stiles chuckles, throwing Derek a playful wink.

Derek’s eyes flash blue as he once again presses his body firmly against Stiles’, slamming his wrists against the plaster in a tight grip. His teeth sharpen at the implication of Stiles wanting to be fucked. His claws extending; giving the boy a brief scratch as they hold him in place. His mate’s eyes widen at Derek’s sudden movements, breath catching in his throat as Derek traces his fangs across the vulnerable skin at his throat.

“Next time...” Derek brings his mouth close to the boy’s ear. “I’ll do exactly that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if I've missed any tags or warnings.
> 
> I really hope you liked it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consent is the most crucial thing to Derek; he would never forgive himself if he-
> 
> He won’t be Kate. He won’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have severely neglected this fic, and I apologise to anyone who might have been waiting for updates. I just lost all the love I once had for it and moved on to other things. I re-read it a few months ago and felt like it wasn't the best I had to offer and I really struggle to write Derek, so I gave up. 
> 
> Over the last month, I've been slowly re-writing each chapter and editing as best I can, I'm still not overly happy with it, but I feel like I have, at the very least, re-awoken my desire to finish it. I've re-written a few of my fics as I think I've grown since I first posted on here, even subtly so I wanted to make sure everything I've posted shows that little bit of growth. I still don't think this is where I want it to be; I don't think it ever will be unless I completely tear it down and start again, but I'm content with it, for now. I also received some smutty art that I commissioned from an artist a while ago, and it's given me the kick up the arse I need to get some writing done. 
> 
> I am really hoping and praying this motivation will last, so I can finally finish this, and my Intoxicate Me Now fic 'cause the fact they've both been sitting without an update for several months now is starting to grind me down. 
> 
> Anyways, enough of my moaning. This chapter has been in my drafts since the last time I posted, it's just quite a difficult chapter for me (for obvious reasons) and that why I only managed to edit and post it now. Please heed the tags as I have added a few more which are relevant. I will add more of a warning in the endnotes so if you are dubious, head down there first. 
> 
> I really hope this is okay for you guys. I am planning on writing up and editing the last four chapters next week, but we will just see how that goes. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience; please enjoy and take care!

Derek left not long after his momentary lapse in self-control. Leaping from the window in haste, ignoring Stiles’ pleas for him to come back.

Stiles had suggested he stay the night, his teenage hormones begging for Derek to show him all the dirty things he’d fantasized about since they first met. But after he’d half-shifted at the mere mention of fucking the boy into the mattress, he couldn’t trust himself not to lose complete control and claim the boy before they’ve had the chance to discuss it.

He may have shaken off his attempted righteousness for the chance of bringing his mate to ecstasy, but he refuses to act a _complete_ animal and take the boy without him first knowing exactly what he means to Derek. His control is stretched too thin at this point for him to just fuck the boy without binding them together; his wolf wouldn’t allow it. It’s had a taste of _mate_, and it wants more, it’s greedy for it.

Derek knows as soon as he’s inside him, his wolf will come to the fore, rendering the situation past the point of no return. Something he just can’t allow. Not yet anyway, and not without Stiles’ explicit consent on the matter. He wants to be sure that Stiles understands all the implications of becoming a werewolf mate before jumping in. He wants to make sure the boy is a hundred per cent committed to the bonding before he bites him.

Consent is the most crucial thing to Derek; he would never forgive himself if he-

He won’t be Kate. He won’t.

Instead of risking it, he’d done what he does best... he ran. He ran into the forest, sprinting through the trees until his legs gave out under him. Until the sun began to rise on the horizon, and he was so exhausted that any thought of turning around and climbing back through Stiles’ window washed away with his sweat.

He wants Stiles more than he’s ever wanted anything before, he can’t explain it, and it scares him. He knows the boy wants him too, that much is apparent but does he want him forever? Does he want him so much that he’ll forsake any and all others for the rest of his life? He’s only seventeen, too young to make that kind of decision and Derek curses himself for even thinking that waiting until the boy is eighteen would magically make that any less true. Another year older and he’s still just as young, still just as pure.

How can Derek ask him to make this life-altering decision when he still has so much of that life yet to live? If he lets him go now, the boy could experience things, have a chance to test the waters, see if there’s anyone out there better for him than Derek.

Derek; the broken Beta werewolf with more issues than sense.

_How could I have been so stupid?_

He doesn’t outright regret what they’ve done, but he can’t help thinking everything that’s played out in the last twenty-four hours has been all for his own selfish gain. He knew his wolf would get even more attached, but he climbed through the boy’s window anyway; he kissed him, whispered honeyed promises and sweet nothings into his ear. He did it all anyway, regardless of how much he knew he’d want to punish himself for it afterwards.

_I’m such a fool._

“Derek.” A small voice rings in his ear; the cautious, familiar tone startles him from his self-loathing, he swivels around to see none other than-

“Stiles?” _Gods have mercy._ “What are you-”

“Look, just let me speak okay?” the boy interrupts, his eyes appear as drained and exhausted as Derek feels. 

It’s early in the morning, he knows that for sure, what time exactly he couldn’t confidently say. The sun is casting a faint light through the forest, it’s not quite full daylight but getting there. With the presence of dew upon the flecks of grass below his feet, he’d hazard a guess at around five AM. He must have been running most of the night, and with Stiles’ jaded appearance comes the implication he too hasn’t slept much of that either. Or at all.

Derek takes a few deeps breaths, calming himself before nodding for Stiles to continue. The boy seems determined to say his piece, and Derek knows telling him to leave would be a lost cause. His mate never listens to reason anyway.

“I-I talked to Peter and-”

Derek bristles instantly at that. “You went to The Loft?” His shoulders tense in anticipation for hearing what his uncle told the boy.

Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek’s defensive stature. “Just shush a minute, please.” He glares at Derek until he settles before speaking again. “Yes, I went to your apartment ’cause you left so suddenly, I-I was worried about you. I thought I’d done something wrong, that I’d hurt you or whatever, so I went to The Loft to apologize. I thought that’s where you’d have gone, but Peter said you hadn’t come home then proceeded to ask me all sorts of weird and imposing questions and-”

“What did he tell you?” Derek grouses, stopping Stiles before he can ramble.

“That you’d be here... running. Said you do that sometimes when you feel like you’re losing control. That it probably wasn’t anything I had done, more just your wolf and moral compass taking over.”

_Damn him._

At Derek’s aggravated snarl, Stiles mellows his tone, as if trying to placate a wild animal. “Look, I know I still have a lot to learn about all this, but... Derek, I like you, and I think you like me too, so why are you pushing me away? Please, just tell me what’s wrong.” The boy’s heartbeat is steady, no hint of a lie.

_He likes me. _

Derek suspected it but hoped the boy wouldn’t have attached himself this quickly. It makes everything worse to hear the affirmation out loud, but all the more reason to just nip it in the bud before it blooms. “Go home, Stiles,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster but seeing the boy’s eyes alight with anger at the dismissal makes his harshness falter.

“No, I won’t _‘go home’_, Derek.” Stiles hisses through his teeth, but his expression softens when he looks at Derek again, something like an apology in his eyes. “Just talk to me.”

“I-I...” he trails off, huffing in frustration when the rest of what he wants to say dies on his lips. He wants to tell Stiles about true mates, wants to tell him how everything about him, even down to his smell drives him to the point of insanity, but he just can’t. “Just go.” He turns to walk away, but Stiles doesn’t let him, grabbing onto his arm to pull him back.

Derek growls low in his throat, a warning, but the boy doesn’t let up—he just laughs, eyebrow quirking incredulously. “Really? Growling? Piss off, Derek, your macho-wolf bullshit doesn’t scare me.” 

Derek huffs, a little petulantly. “It should.”

“Yeah, probably,” Stiles shrugs. “But I never have been known for my self-preservation... or common sense really.”

Derek snorts, the tension seeping out of his bones as Stiles’ scent washes over him. Much like Peter, Stiles knows how to make light of every situation. Whether he does it on purpose or he’s just awkward like that Derek doesn’t know, but as with his Alpha, it works.

“Hey, big guy,” Stiles moves around in front of him, ducking his head to catch his eye. Derek looks up to see a fond smile curling the boy’s lips, something that makes his heart pound wildly in his chest. “It’s okay, whatever’s bothering you, maybe I can help?”

“I-I...” he stutters a few times, his mouth opening and closing before he can properly form the words.

_Who knew it could be so difficult to open up to someone? _

“I don’t want to be like her,” he says it so quietly that he isn’t sure Stiles hears, but after a moment he gets his reply.

“Who?”

Derek whines, a pathetic noise he knows, but his frustration is mounting again as his panic prevents the words from leaving his throat. Stiles’ hands cup the side of his face, grounding him. He melts into the soothing gesture, enamoured with the sensation of his mate’s touch. He gazes into the boy’s eyes and sees no sign of anything but adoration—no pity, no judgement, just patience and love. It helps elevate the weight pushing against his chest enough to utter the name, “Kate.”

~

They left the forest; Stiles wouldn’t budge on his idea of relocation back to his home. He wanted Derek to talk, to tell him everything, but he wanted to do it somewhere less open, and with less of a chilly morning breeze.

Derek thanked the Heavens and all its deities that Stiles’ dad was still at work when they got there. Still working the graveyard shift Stiles had assured him, said he’d be back around breakfast time—_'normal peoples breakfast time, Derek, not five AM.’_

As soon as they entered Stiles’ room again, the boy slumped into his desk chair, ushering for Derek to sit on the bed or wherever he felt most comfortable. The smell of their earlier activities was still rife in the air, Derek’s eyes had flashed blue for an instant at the reminder, but he was able to handle it with a little more finesse than earlier. He didn’t feel the clawing urge to flee; it was progress.

He did, however, feel guilty when he noticed the full extent of his mate’s tiredness. The subtle yawns he failed miserably to cover, the bloodshot eyes and hunch in his posture. He’d argued valiantly for the boy to get some sleep and assured him he could return once he’s rested, his wolf going stir crazy with the need to keep his mate healthy. But Stiles, the stubborn ox that he is, counteracted the argument and told him his ADHD wouldn’t let him even if he wanted too, not until he knew the extent of Derek’s burdens. So, instead, he’d sighed, sat down on the boy’s bed where the comforting smell of mate was most potent and relayed to him the story of Katherine Argent.

Kate was—_is_—a hunter from one of the most prestigious, well-known hunter families in America. She was beautiful and had enough self-confidence to put Peter to shame, but like most beautiful things, she turned out to be deadly. A fact Derek hadn’t found out until it was too late.

Something in the back of his mind told him from the beginning that he was playing with fire, but he just hadn’t realized to what extent. His gullible, hormonal teenage self just thought it was the usual cautiousness of the forbidden, a wariness of the unknown, only the adrenaline rush you’d get when doing something naughty, but that wasn’t the case. He should have heeded that little voice; he should have stayed away.

She’d cornered him one day outside school, and he—being a boy of fifteen—had followed like a lost puppy. What young boy wouldn’t follow the charming lady with pretty eyes and a shirt translucent enough to see her nipples when she spoke kind words and said he was handsome? He hadn’t thought much of the consequences of his actions when his dick was telling him to jump through hoops for a chance to have this strong, independent _woman_ faun over him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

It didn’t take long for her to convince him into sneaking out at night to meet her or to coax him into telling her things amidst throes of bliss. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time; he just believed her to be genuinely curious about his family, believed she wanted to know about them in anticipation of meeting them. He thought she was planning on making their relationship public but was nervous about it. Looking back, it was all so obvious. From the first moment she touched him a bit more fiercely than could be seen as innocent, he should have known.

She was never gentle with him, always commenting on how incredible his body was for such a young boy and using it to see to her own pleasure, never much caring for Derek’s. She would ride his cock or his face until she had no more use for it, then she’d kiss him on the cheek in an apparent dismissal. Always in a bored and condescending way, while gritting out a warning not to mention her to his family. She would tell him to fill his thoughts with nothing or no one but her, feigning disappointment if he failed to do so. She wanted her face to be the only picture in his mind until it drove him delirious. Until he began resenting his family for daring to try to wipe the image of her away with trivial things.

It worked. He began venting, telling her secrets and information he knew he shouldn’t, but at that moment he hated them. He hated them because he couldn’t tell them about the woman he loved for they wouldn’t understand—wouldn’t even try to understand. He hated them for trying to get him to join clubs and do things that _‘normal teenagers’ _should be doing when all he wanted to do was fuck Kate or think about fucking her.

He should have known that was her plan all along. He should have known she wanted him to turn against his own family, to divulge every single one of their secrets to her, so she knew how to bring them down.

It didn’t take long for his admission on werewolves, but she already knew all about it. She faked surprise, even a little fear but all the while she was laughing behind his back. Cackling like a cold-hearted witch at how she managed to capture the trust of this stupid, naive boy so easily.

It was easy, so goddamn easy for her to sink her talons into him, all she had to do was bat her pretty long lashes and flick her long curling locks. A few steamy compliments sent his way and _bam; _he gave her his heart like a fucking bloody offering to the Gods.

On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, his whole family had gathered around to celebrate. In true Hale fashion, his mother and father played host to the entire Hale pack in the form of a party. Derek had joined in if only to save face, but the whole time he’d spent silently brooding, counting down the minutes until he could see Kate again. She’d promised him a _‘gift’_, something to show her undying devotion. He’ll never forget how he spent his families last remaining hours on earth pining over the women who’d bring his whole world crumbling down around him.

He left just after midnight, once the rest of his family retired for the evening, as was customary for their meetings. Laura has followed him, keeping to the shadows of the trees surrounding their home like the mischievous and meddling big sister she was. All to catch a glimpse of where her brother had been sneaking off too for the last few months. He hadn’t noticed her until he heard the warning growl vibrating the ground behind him, Laura’s eyes flashing fierce and yellow as Kates looming silhouette appeared from the darkness.

Laura had known she was a hunter, had heard of the Argent family and recognized her by scent alone. Being the Alpha heir, she’d been schooled from a young age on the faces of their enemies. Something Derek was, unfortunately, never privy too.

It was at that moment; it finally dawned on him that Kate had used him. That he was a tiny little insignificant chess piece amidst a colossal game of Werewolf vs Hunter. The bitch had laughed, an evil, gut curdling sound from the very second his face paled in recognition. That’s also when he first smelt the smoke, had heard the screams. Kate’s darkened eyes glistened in the light as flames licked up the foundations of their home. Her face split into a manically entertained grin, her tongue licking over teeth sharp enough to shame any predator.

She’d explained to him her plan while he stood frozen in that forest, his body betraying him as his life came crashing to a halt. She was to lure him out, intending to spare him death, but_ ‘gifting’_ him something so much worse—the guilt. To die amongst his beloved family would have been too easy a punishment for being such an abomination, for being such a freak of nature.

_‘Call me sentimental’_ she had cooed while digging her nails into his jaw. _‘But you’re too pretty to waste in a fire... not pretty enough to escape punishment entirely though,’_ she’d giggled, leaning down to whisper close to his ear words he’ll never forget until his dying breath. _‘You’re penance, little wolf, is living the rest of your pathetic life knowing that this was. All. Your. Fault.’_

He’d crumpled into the dirt, his body losing all ability to stay upright as he watched, helpless, as his home and all his family burned to ash. Laura gained the Alpha spark, fear and hatred pumping through her veins as she too felt every single one of their pack bonds snap and perish.

Kate only had to distract him long enough for her lackeys to circle the place with mountain ash, to douse the wood in gasoline and light it up like a bonfire. By the time either of them noticed the flames, had heard the screams, it was too late. There was nothing they could have done.

At the sound of a fire engine, they fled. Kate and her goons were long gone, and with Laura being fuelled by pure terror, she did what she thought was best and dragged them both as far away from those woods as possible. They ran until they couldn’t run anymore. They didn’t look back, not for six whole years.

_It was all my fault._

“She was right,” Derek admits after a few moments of silence, his head bowed in his hands as any courage he may have had disappears with the salty scent of Stiles’ tears. “It was all my fault and not a day goes by when I don’t feel guilty for what happened, but I know now that what she did was wrong too. She... she used me for the sole purpose of eliminating my family... my kind. Peter told me that what she did to me was rap-” He cuts himself off, unable to say the word, his teeth grinding together at even the thought. “What she did was illegal, and I know that now, but I didn’t then. It’s taken me this long, Stiles, to finally realize that she... that she-”

Derek doesn’t even register the sound of the boy moving from his chair, but within an instant, he’s kneeling between his legs in front of him, comforting him. “Hey, it’s okay.” Stiles’ hands are on his face before he can blink, his thumbs rubbing his cheeks soothingly. “You don’t have to say it.” The boy smiles wetly, something that’s no doubt supposed to be reassuring but Derek just feels worse for it.

The last thing he wants is to make Stiles upset on his behalf, but as he lifts his gaze level with the boy’s he can’t help whine at the fat droplets of unshed tears clinging to his lashes. He wants to kick himself for it.

“Hey, stop it,” Stiles softly chides, cutting through his thoughts as if he can mind read. “I’m only crying because I’m angry... I’m angry that happened to you, that she’s still out there somewhere, waltzing around unpunished. It’s not fair. I know you don’t want pity, but please listen to me... it was not your fault.”

“Yes, it-”

“No, it was _her_, Derek. It was all her. She manipulated you, twisted every one of your thoughts and feelings. She forced you to crave her above your family; she turned you against them. She- she hurt you.” Stiles wipes his hand across his flushed cheek, and Derek can see the hint of rage bubbling under the surface—can smell it—but the boy keeps his voice soft. “Everything that happened was down to her, not you. You were so young, Der. None of it was your fault.” He says it with such conviction that Derek can’t stop the tears that fall across his own cheeks.

For all the time’s Laura and Peter told him the same thing, he never believed it. Deep down he was so sure some part of them blamed him too, they’d say it wasn’t his fault so that he’d move on ’cause they were sick of his self-pitying. He knows it’s ridiculous, they can’t lie to him, and whenever they assured him, it was with a steady heart, but he just didn’t want to accept it. He didn’t want to be forgiven; he didn’t deserve it. But, somehow, with the way Stiles is looking at him, the acceptance in his eyes makes a tiny part of him want to believe it. Makes him think that one day, he may be able to agree.

Stiles speaks again through Derek’s silence. “I won’t lie and say that my heart isn’t breaking on your behalf, Der, ’cause no-one should have to go through that. I can’t even imagine...” He trails off, eyes focussing off into the distance before snapping back, his hold strengthening against his face. “Whatever I can do to help you heal, just say the word, and I will do it, I need you to know that... that I’m here for you.” Derek nods in what he hopes is an appreciative gesture. Stiles smiles while collecting the wet from Derek’s cheeks with his thumbs. “And thank you for trusting me.”

A few moments pass between them in comfortable silence. Stiles continues to comfort him, to ground him with his scent and touch. But there is still one issue Derek has to address, the reason he told Stiles all this in the first place.

Derek takes hold of both Stiles’ hands in his, rubbing circles into his palms before speaking. “I’m just afraid that... being with you makes me just the same as her.”

Stiles squeezes his hands, the way his face drops with realization, breaks Derek’s heart just a little more. “Oh, Derek... is that why you left? You thought-” At Derek’s inability to look him in the eyes he cuts himself off. “No, no, no, you’ll never ever be like her. Do you hear me?” Nimble fingers cup his cheeks again, raising his gaze from where he’d bowed his head towards the floor. “You are _nothing_ like her, Der, you are sweet and kind, and the fact that you’re even worried about it proves you are nothing alike. Please believe me.”

“But, you’re only seventeen.”

“I-I know, but it’s not the same. You’re not forcing me into anything, Derek. I’m here willingly, and yes, I know I’m still technically a minor, but please don’t think what we have is the same.” Stiles sighs, his hands dropping into his lap as he breaths out. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I was pissed at you for stopping that first time, had I know you felt like this I would never have...” Stiles’ scent turns sour, like shame. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your reservations seriously the first time... I thought you were just being over-cautious with my dad being the Sherriff, I didn’t realize that- I’m sorry.” It’s said almost too quietly to hear, and that’s when he realizes Stiles feels guilty for their intimacies, feels like they weren’t something Derek wanted too.

“You have nothing to apologize for, baby. I wanted you, and that won’t change. I wanted you so much that I climbed into your window even against the little voice in my head telling me I shouldn’t,” he says it with as much sincerity as he can, to reassure the boy. He’s wanted, but Derek just feels dirty for it. “All I’m saying is, I feel like a hypocrite, and I wish I had more willpower to have waited until you were eighteen to touch you. That’s all.”

Stiles nods, sniffling a little, “Okay.”

“Trust me when I say that I want you, Stiles. You have no idea how much but I just- I’d prefer it if we waited until you were eighteen to go any further. I can’t take back what I’ve already done, not that I want too, but if you are willing, I’d like to take things slow.” He explains, before adding a little sheepishly, “I mean, if you want me too, that is.”

“Of course I want you,” the boy chuckles softly as if the words were the most natural thing in the world for him to say. “Der, I like you. A lot. I will wait as long as you need ’cause I never want you to feel uncomfortable with me. I want to be with you, like properly as a couple, and if that means waiting until I’m eighteen then, I’ll wait. Happily.”

“Thank you.” Derek lets himself smile, just a small curl to the corner of his lips but Stiles lights up at the gesture. He brings the boys hand to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss to his palm, Stiles blushes adorably before his face breaks into an unrestrained yawn. “I think it’s bedtime for you.” Derek breathes out a laugh, shaking his head fondly at the ruination of the romantic moment. 

Stiles snorts, covering his mouth as several more yawns take over him in quick succession. “I think you might be right.” The boy wobbles to his feet, using Derek’s offered hand as support before walking over to his closet to remove his shoes and jeans.

Derek gets up off the bed, intending to make his exit but a small hand in his stops him before reaching the door. “Will you stay? For a while?”

He thinks for a second before nodding. He wants nothing more than to hold his mate until he falls asleep, to watch his face fall slack in dreaming. If he’s being honest, he could really do with the comfort himself after everything.

Stiles smiles gratefully, gesturing for him to toe-off his shoes and peel away his jacket so he can recline back against the headboard. The boy turns off the lights and slips under the covers, lying on his side, staring up at him with a silent question in his eyes.

“Come here,” Derek huffs, extending his arm in an invitation, waiting for the boy to shuffle closer and snuggle up against him. The warm, cosy feeling of fulfilment radiates from the bundle in his arms. He allows himself an indulgent smile before placing a lingering kiss to the boy's forehead. “Sleep well, baby.”

It isn’t long before his mates breathing evens out, his body relaxing completely as he dozes off into a tranquil sleep. Derek would have laughed at the speed of it if only his own eyes weren’t falling heavy with the weight of his fatigue. He rests his cheek atop his mates head, casually scenting him as he allows the blanketing aroma of_ home_, to lull him into slumber.

For the first time in years, he feels content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:
> 
> I delve into Derek's past here and basically talk about Kate Argent. I don't get overly vivid, I don't think, but the rape/sexual assault is mentioned. We also have more of Dereks self-loathing and his general feelings of being the one to blame. Kate is a warning in herself, to be honest, and I just want to make it clear that Derek does have issues, but Stiles is willing to help him through it. If any of this bothers you, please do not read. Look after yourselves, as I say this was hard for me to write so if it's too much then just skip it. 
> 
> Please also remember that everyone deals with trauma differently, that's all I will say on that. 
> 
> If you think I have missed any tags or warnings, let me know.
> 
> Stay safe guys; more will hopefully be up soon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles rolls his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, wondering what other possible shenanigans his friend could have gotten into this early in the day. Being a werewolf clearly isn’t enough of an issue; at this rate, Stiles will end up worrying himself into an early grave. Well, to be honest, it makes a change for him being the one blamed when things go pear-shaped. Scottie can finally take one for the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the very first chapter I mapped out when I started writing this back in September last year, that's why the POV is different. I was initially intending to write this whole thing from Stiles' POV but changed it to Derek when I started planning out the other chapters. 
> 
> I hope the change doesn't bother you too much, but I couldn't really write this part through Derek's eyes. The next chapter will be Stiles also; then we are back to Derek for the remainder. 
> 
> I hope ya'll are staying safe; take care and enjoy!

Stiles wakes up alone, the empty side of the bed still warm and ruffled as if Derek only just left. He can’t help the flicker of disappointment in his belly, but it soon gives over to curiosity as his eyes catch sight of a folded up square atop his nightstand. His brow furrows, confusion evident across his features as he reaches over to grab the paper, unfolding it in his palm. It takes him a second, but his face splits into a megawatt grin as soon as he reads the cursive font swirling neatly across the page.

_I’m sorry for leaving again, but your dad came home, and I quite enjoy being alive... especially when I get to have you._ _  
I promise I’ll make it up to you next time, baby.  
Yours for as long as you’ll have me,  
D._

“Such a softy wolf,” Stiles coos fondly, his cheeks straining with the strength of his delight.

He reads over the note several times before folding it back up and stashing it away in his drawer for safekeeping—he’s sentimental like that. Leaning back against the headboard, he allows his mind to wander with thoughts of Derek.

Those fantasies are cut regretfully short by the insistent buzzing of his phone from its place on his desk. Groaning dramatically, he pulls back the covers, trudging out of bed to inspect the notification.

It’s a text from Scott telling him to meet him at Deaton’s,_ ‘urgently’_.

Stiles rolls his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, wondering what other possible shenanigans his friend could have gotten into this early in the day. Being a werewolf clearly isn’t enough of an issue; at this rate, Stiles will end up worrying himself into an early grave. Well, to be honest, it makes a change for him being the one blamed when things go pear-shaped.

_Scottie can finally take one for the team._

For all his pretences at being exasperated, Stiles still gets dressed quicker than lightening and is out his front door in record speed. He’s on route to bail his friend out of any trouble he’s caught himself in within several minutes of his text, armed with nothing but his dry sense of humour and an empty stomach. No matter how much he whines at having to involve himself in yet another crisis, he thrives off being useful. That, and he’d never deny anyone help when they need it, even if it is dangerous. He has his mother to thank for that personality trait.

He’s not wholly selfless though. If Scottie thinks he’s going to guide him through his problems without first obtaining adequate nourishment, the boy has another thing coming. If Stiles stops by the drive-through to grab a breakfast wrap to go and proceeds to practically swallow it whole while driving to the veterinary surgery, well, that’s his business. If he also ignores a few speed limits in order to make up the time from his necessary detour, well, that’s just going to have to be between him and God. Unless of course any of his dad’s deputies happened to be out and about while he was doing seventy in a fifty, in which case he’ll be in big trouble. But he’s not going to dwell on that right now, Scottie needs him, so the law can kindly just bugger off.

~

Deaton is waiting for him at the back door of the clinic; his arms crossed over his chest in a bored stance. Stiles parks up the jeep in the available bay, wasting no more time as he switches off the engine and hops out. His limbs flail in his haste, almost losing balance but managing to make his way to the door without injury.

The vet has a grim expression on his face, but that’s not exactly unusual. The man isn’t exactly Ronald McDonald on a typical day, so his bland stoicism could mean good or bad. No one would never know.

“What’s happened?” Stiles sighs, wiping crumbs from his shirt after clocking the subtle judgmental quirk of Deaton’s eyebrow. He follows the man into the surgery at his silent beckoning. “Is Scottie okay?”

Silence.

“You know, I’m curious, do you tell people what’s wrong with their pets or just make them guess? ‘Cause I’m starting to believe you just draw them a picture.”

An unimpressed glare is thrown his way, but Deaton finally breaks his quiet contemplation. “Scott’s not doing great.”

“Wow, don’t sugar coat anything for me, doc. Just say it how it is,” Stiles deadpans, but his face instantly pales when his eyes fall on his best friend slumped on the floor in the corner of the surgery.

_Deaton wasn’t lying. _

He races over to his friend, crouching down in front of him, his hands reaching out to assess for injury. “Hey, buddy, what’s going on?” 

Scott looks... well, he looks like shit. He looks as if he hasn’t slept for weeks; the bags under his eyes are drooping to almost his knees and his skin is a sickly, damp grey colour. Stiles thinks he’s seen corpses with more brightness in their gaze and complexion. It doesn’t bode well.

“Stiles...” Scott breathes out; his voice drained of all his usual excitable chirpiness.

Stiles doesn’t find any noticeable damage so just rests his hands on the wolf’s shoulders, squeezing gently in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “I’m here... what’s happening to you?”

It’s Deaton who answers, Scott clearly too exhausted to form words at the moment. “Several things are wrong, Mr Stilinski. One; he’s a newly turned werewolf who’s had no contact with his Alpha since being bitten a little over twenty-four hours ago and two-”

“Wait, wait... hold up,” Stiles interrupts, his brain taking a second to catch onto Deaton’s words, and the casualness in which he says them. “You know about werewolves?”

“Yes,” Deaton answers as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “I am a druid and a retired emissary to the Hale pack. Now, reason number two-”

“A druid? What like a witch?” Stiles jumps in again, completely ignoring the faint flicker of irritation clouding the vet’s features before it disappears. He wants answers. “And what the ever-loving fuck is an emissary?”

Deaton’s jaw clenches, his face staying impassive but somehow Stiles can sense the man is already reaching the end of his tether. He absorbs a deep breath into his lungs, a meditation technique if Stiles has ever seen one, before speaking again, his voice calm—if not a little disinterested. “Mr Stilinski, if you don’t mind, I’d rather discuss the most pressing issue we have at present, and I don’t believe my occupation has anything to do with that. Wouldn’t you agree?” He stares at Stiles, daring him to interrupt again. Stiles just nods, biting his tongue to stave off his curiosity, he’ll get answers another time. “Now, the second reason for Scott’s appearance, I believe, is due to him finding his true mate.”

“His what?”

“My what?”

Deaton turns his attention to Scott, who has now perked up slightly with interest, his manner turns, even more, clinical—a doctor addressing his patient. “Before Mr Stilinski arrived, you were telling me about how you picked up a scent; the distinct aroma of the forest in spring and vanilla. When you followed said scent, you were led to a girl. Was there anything else you noticed at that moment? Did you feel any particular urges or maybe a little voice in your head telling you how to proceed?”

Stiles is about to offer some sarcastic quip about Scottie meeting a girl, to tease him as best friends do. But as he turns to his friend, he frowns a little at the reddened tinge creeping over Scott’s cheeks; his head ducked in embarrassment.

“I-I... I felt some urges,” Scott stutters, struggling to find his voice through his weariness. “Bu-but you have to believe me, I couldn’t stop them, it ju-just happened. I freaked out and ran to the first place I-I could think of so that I wouldn’t...” The wolf trails off, face turning an impossibly more vibrant shade of red, his voice sounding a little frantic.

“Wouldn’t what?” Deaton coaxes.

“Mate with her. Breed her. Claim her. That’s all I could think about,” Scott whines pitifully, and Stiles can’t help feeling sorry for him. “As soon as I smelt it, it was like a switch. My eyes were glowing, my claws and fangs were out, and I couldn’t stop it. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Deaton assures him before continuing. “It’s all part of your new instincts, Scott. It’s not ideal that this happened _before_ your Alpha has explained everything and trained you better in control, but I have to say I’m impressed you managed to pull yourself away. To tame your wolf enough to come here instead of doing what it wanted is an extraordinary feat.” The man does genuinely sound impressed, his expression doesn’t change, but he does have a lightness to his voice which Stiles hasn’t heard before.

“So, what do we do now?” Stiles asks, unsure how to proceed with this information but hopeful that Deaton will figure something out. Scott looks at him as if he wasn’t expecting his automatic acceptance, but Stiles grabs his hand in reassurance. He’s not going anywhere. “Can you help him?”

“I can only give advice. I’m not a wolf, so I can’t train you in the art of control. I can only guide you towards the best course of action.”

Stiles huffs at the lack of an actual answer. “And what’s that?”

Deaton doesn’t miss a beat. “Speak to your Alpha.”

Scott groans while Stiles nods in agreement—albeit he’s a little irritated at the obviousness of it. Derek had told him a little about the bond between a Beta and their Alpha, so he doesn’t doubt that Peter will know what’s best for his friend, he just wishes Deaton had started with that instead of dragging this out.

“He’s the only one who can help keep you on track,” the vet continues. “Mr Stilinski and I could try, but it would be a long and arduous process. You wouldn’t learn even half of what you need from us, not in the way an Alpha can teach you, especially a born wolf.”

“I agree,” Stiles shares a look with Deaton before turning back to Scott. “I am more than willing to help you through this, buddy, you know I am, but I think it’s best if you talk to Peter. He might be an asshole, but he will help. I mean, he did save your life.”

Scott bristles, his eyes glowing supernatural yellow. “Stiles... he kidnapped me!”

“Don’t be a fool,” Stiles scolds harshly, not bothered in the least by Scott’s lapse in control, he’s used to it from Derek. “He saved your life. You would have died if he hadn’t bit you, Scott. Take your head out your ass for one second and actually think about what you’re saying.”

Scott at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself, his eyes fading back to their natural colour as he drops his head towards the ground.

_Good,_ Stiles thinks. _So he should._

“I’m sorry,” Scott mumbles, and Stiles can’t stay mad at him for long, he never could.

“I don’t doubt that this is all terrifying for you Scottie, Hell, I’m terrified, and it’s not even me who’s been turned into a werewolf. But I know for a fact that Peter and Derek didn’t kidnap you... and you know it too. So, drop the bullshit and just ask your Alpha for help. I’ll come with you; I’d quite like to ask Peter a few questions myself.”

Scott takes a moment to process Stiles’ lecture before nodding his agreement. He lets his body fall into him, nuzzling against his shoulder in apology. “Thanks, Sti.”

Stiles snorts at his friend’s apparent lupine behaviour. “Come on, soppy wolf.” He stands, holding out his hand for Scott, who takes it with a grateful, lopsided smile. “So, are you offering your help indefinitely or was this just a one-off?” He directs his question to Deaton who has now taken to fiddling with various glass jars and bottles on a shelf Stiles swears wasn’t there a moment ago.

“I am retired as an emissary, but I’m here if you need any further guidance,” he answers matter-of-factly, giving Stiles a look that he can’t quite decipher. “Here, give these to Peter. He’ll need them.”

“What are they?” Stiles quizzes, holding out both hands as Deaton passes over the tiny glass vials, his palms sweating slightly with the force of his concentration on not dropping them.

Upon closer inspection, he notes they’re all filled with substances of different textures; some liquid, some sand, and some herbal. He shrugs to himself when nothing he sees through the glass is recognisable, sliding them all into his hoodie pocket with care. He visibly winces when the high-pitched sound of them clattering against one another echoes in the silence.

“Various concoctions that will keep his pack safe. He’ll know what to do with them.”

_Cryptic as ever._

“Thanks, doc,” Stiles throws over his shoulder as he ushers his limping friend to his jeep, the quicker they get to Peter, the better.

~

Peter is leaning quite attractively—for a creepy older guy; he’s hot, okay? Stiles is allowed to appreciate it—against the open roller door before Stiles even has the chance to knock. Stiles keeps forgetting about the whole heightened senses thing, and he reckons it will be a while before it’s anything less than unsettling.

“Stiles...” he purrs in that silky, seductive voice of his. It makes Stiles shiver, not in the same way Derek’s voice does, oh no, Peters words make him feel like prey. The man might be nice to look at, but he’s definitely unhinged. “What do I owe the pleasure of your company? And twice in so many hours no less, the neighbours will start to talk.”

“You own the building, Peter,” Stiles deadpans. “You are _‘the neighbours’_.”

“True.” The man’s smirk turns mischievous. “But alas, what will my nephew think?”

Stiles can’t help feel the little spark of disappointment in his belly. “He’s not here then?”

“Nope,” Peter answers all too cheerfully, popping the _‘p’_ like an asshole. “Which gives us plenty of time to... _get to know one another.”_

Stiles scoffs but he can’t help his amused smile at the man’s blatant attempt to unsettle him. “You’re such a cad.”

Peter gasps, feigning offence. “Dear boy, you wound me.”

Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes at the older man. He can’t help but like the guy, even if he’s not entirely sure whether the flirtations are purely for entertainment purposes or not. But one thing he is sure of, the days will never be boring with Peter Hale for company.

“We’re here for your help.” He changes the subject, indicating between himself and Scott—who he almost forgot was there with how silent he’s being.

“Oh?” Peter doesn’t sound shocked. “You’ve brought back the wandering Beta I see. I have to say; I’m relieved at the lack of _‘animal attacks’_ reported in the last twenty-four hours. I’m proud.”

“Yes, well-” Stiles starts but is cut off by Scott’s voice emerging out of nowhere.

“Alpha,” the word comes out no more than a whisper, pathetically soft and almost apologetic.

Stiles turns at the sound, eyebrows raising in shock at the sight of his friend’s submissive stance. He looks like a kicked puppy, eyes downcast and neck tilted to the side. Stiles has to stop himself cooing at the cuteness of it; he’s sure his friend wouldn’t appreciate it.

Peter sighs, but it sounds fond as he holds out his hand towards the Beta. “Come here, pup.”

Stiles isn’t sure who’s more surprised, himself or Peter when instead of grabbing hold of the offered hand or even arching his neck towards it, Scott barrels into the side of his Alpha, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and holding on for dear life.

Peter barely stumbles at the weight crashing into him, but his face tells Stiles the sudden development was the last thing he’d expected. It takes the man hardly a second to get over the shock, however, as his face goes from wide-eyed and startled to soft and sympathetic. A genuinely affectionate smile splits the Alphas face, and Stiles can’t help compare the look to something he’s seen on his own fathers face, it’s oddly paternal.

Peter’s arms slide around the Beta, holding him close while making some adorable rumbling noise in his chest, like a contented cat. He rubs his stubble over Scottie’s head—_scenting,_ Stiles realises. He may not have learned much in his study session before Derek crashed through his bedroom yesterday but what he had read, focused a lot on the importance of scenting to werewolves.

They are very tactile creatures, much like regular wolves, using touch and scent to feel close, to strengthen the familial bonds between them. An Alpha scents their Betas for many reasons; one, to make sure other packs know who belongs to who. Two, to calm them down as an Alpha has a natural calming pheromone within their scent which is akin to catnip for their Betas. Three, to establish a hierarchy in the pack. Betas will often offer their necks to the Alpha in the act of submission, and the Alpha will accept by rubbing their scent on the area.

It all seemed strange to Stiles when he’d read it, but he can’t help how intrigued he is by seeing it actually happen. It’s as if Scott has wholly disregarded his human side and is resigning himself to pure instinct and Peter is reacting to that behaviour as his own instincts dictate. It’s fascinating. He does feel sorta weird though like he’s imposing on something intimate, but wolves apparently aren’t as conventional as humans, they don’t really take into consideration public decency.

“So,” Stiles cuts through the silence a little awkwardly. “I take it you forgive Peter for kidnapping you, Scottie?” He can’t help himself.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Scott mutters from where he’s cuddled against Peter’s chest, but there’s no heat behind the words.

Stiles laughs, his friend sounds better already—going from barely awake to telling him to _'shut up'_ is significant progress. If that’s what one whiff of Alpha pheromones does to you, Stiles wouldn’t mind getting some bottled up.

_Oh, that reminds me._

“Here,” Stiles exclaims, reaching into his pockets. “Deaton said you might need these. I still think it’s weird that the local vet knows all about the supernatural—or is part of the supernatural, should I say—and we had no idea, but he said these would help so...”

Peter looks up from scenting Scott, letting the boy out of his arms almost reluctantly to inspect the bottles Stiles is offering him. His eyebrows rise to his hairline as he takes a closer look, eyes darting between the vials and Stiles as if he’s assessing something. “The druid actually wants to help... well, there’s a first time for everything.” Peter laughs, but it sounds almost bitter.

Stiles’ eyes narrow curiously. “I’m sensing a story here.”

The Alphas face does something complicated, like he wants to scoff, sneer and growl all at once before it morphs into a tight smile. “Another time, perhaps.”

Stiles can feel the tension, and with the way Scott is practically whimpering, he can feel it too. “So, you know what to do with those?” He points to the vials, quickly changing the direction of the conversation.

“I do,” Peter nods tersely, holding them out for Stiles to take back, transferring them into his hands with finality, so he has no choice but to either drop them or gather them back into his arms.

“Erm... what-”

“Congratulations,” Peter cuts him off, his words a little dry, like he’s reciting a ream of terms and conditions. “You have been chosen as the new Hale pack emissary.”

“I-I’ve been what now?” Stiles stutters, extremely confused for the umpteenth time today.

“Don’t worry, Deaton will train you, and as my emissary, you’ll find more use in those potions than I will,” Peter replies as if that actually answers his question, which no, it doesn’t.

“Wait a damn minute...” Stiles holds up his hands, forgetting the vials and almost dropping a few. “So, you’re telling me, Deaton made me cart these things all the way here to give to you, for you to give me them back so I can cart them all the way back to Deaton?”

Peter’s mouth twists into a predatory grin, but his words are a little condescending. “Has anyone ever told you what a clever boy you are, Stiles?”

Stiles ignores him. “Why the fuck did he not just- oh, fuck it, I give up.” He stuffs the bottles into his hoodie with a huff, but he knows fine rightly he has no intention of giving up his rant—much to Peter’s obvious amusement. “So, what? Deaton knew all along that you were going to make me your emissary or will he be just as surprised with this development as I am?”

“He chose you himself; I had nothing to do with it. That’s what those bottles mean.”

“Cut the Da Vinci code bullshit, Peter, if I wanted cryptic I’d just call the man myself.”

Peter sighs, long and put out as if Stiles isn’t entirely within his rights to be baffled right now. “Deaton was the Hale pack emissary before... before the fire. When my sister, the Hale Alpha at the time, died and no other Hale Alpha stepped up to claim the territory for six years after, he decided to retire.” Stiles nods along, listening intently. “When an emissary retires, he or she must pass the position onto another of their choosing. It’s typically another druid, but he obviously sees something in you which allows for the breach in tradition. Those bottles are basically an emissary’s starter kit; he would have received the same from the man or woman before him. By giving them to you to give to me, he’s making a show of passing on his title. It might seem odd, but it’s one of those trivial rituals that’s been around for centuries.”

Stiles absorbs Peter’s words, a million and one questions rolling around in his head. “What if you don’t want me?”

Peter seems taken aback by Stiles’ first choice of question, but answers it anyway with patience and sincerity. “It’s the one thing an Alpha cannot control. An emissary is chosen through a higher power. Deaton will have received a divine inclination about you, a feeling or a premonition. Whether I want you or not is irrelevant, Deaton has passed his title onto you, and I must accept it.”

“What if I don’t want it?”

Peter seems less surprised by this question, he was probably expecting it first, but Stiles likes to keep people on their toes. “You are perfectly entitled to decline, but I can’t imagine why you would.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stiles raises his hands into the air in an overly dramatic gesture. “Maybe because I’m not a witch? Or druid, or whatever the Hell Deaton is. I’m not magic; I think I’d have known if I was.”

“Being an emissary isn’t about magic, dear boy,” Peter chuckles in amusement at his animated flailing. “It’s about guidance, keeping the pack safe and guarded. It’s about working with your Alpha to make the pack as strong as it can be. Deaton will help you with all of this; he has to, it’s all part of the Ritual of Passing.”

Now that Stiles thinks about it, Deaton may have been cryptic, but he did say he was there if he needed any further guidance, he must have been referring to training him as an emissary. Of course, he probably knew Stiles wouldn’t accept or decline right away, hence the _‘if’_.

“Can I think about it?”

Peter smiles warmly, “Of course, take all the time you need. I will admit, I hadn’t anticipated the possibility of a new emissary quite so soon, but it was inevitable. Every pack has one, so it was only a matter of time before I acquired one at Deaton’s behest.” The man straightens himself from leaning casually against the door frame, moving towards Stiles to put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “But, what I will say is this; I would be honoured to have you as a member of the Hale pack Stiles, as an emissary or not, just remember that. Whether you accept or decline, I already consider you a part of this pack. The choice of which title you acquire, however, is completely yours.”

“God, I have so many questions.” Stiles huffs out in exasperation, running his hands through his hair to ground himself. “I’ll talk to Deaton and think it over... and thanks, y’know for considering me pack.” He smiles up at Peter, the hand on his shoulder surprisingly soothing.

_Is this what it feels like for Scott?_

“I’ve no doubt you have questions,” he says with a smirk before his face softens. “And there’s no need to thank me. I like you, Stiles, and I think you’ll be an asset to the pack. Yours was the smoothest bond I’ve felt snap into place since Derek was born. You’ve been a part of us from the day we met; you were just unaware. As a human, you can’t feel the bond as we do—apart from in _certain_ circumstances—but it’s still present all the same.”

Stiles’ eyes burn with unshed tears, his chest heavy at Peter’s admission. The man is as sarcastic as they come, but right now, Stiles knows what he’s saying is genuine, and it makes him feel so wanted. He almost abandons all propriety and leaps into the man’s arms as Scott did but holds himself back—just.

“So, in other news,” Stiles coughs to clear his throat, his voice rough with emotion as he distracts himself with a change in subject. “Deaton believes Scott has found his- what was it called? A true mate? And said you’re the best person to train him in the art of self-control.”

Peter chuckles to himself, his hand dropping from Stiles’ shoulder to run it through his own hair. “You as well?” At Scott’s nod, he laughs again. “Gods above, is Mother Moon having a yard sale or something?”

“What?” Stiles questions, unsure of his meaning.

“Never mind,” Peter shakes his head to clear his amusement, stepping towards the door, ushering them both inside. “Come in; we’ll discuss the basics and compile a list of dates for training.”

Stiles walks into the apartment, letting the Alphas previous comment drift from his mind, it’s obviously some sort of inside joke.

~

Several hours pass with Peter having gone over what he referred to as _‘the basics’ _but ended up putting to shame a whole years’ worth of chemistry classes with Mr Harris.

_God, the guy can talk. _

Stiles isn’t exactly shy of a few words himself, but Peter puts his ADHD riddled ramblings to shame. He’s also confident the man just loves hearing the sound of his own voice. He won’t lie, everything he told them was fascinating, and Stiles borrowed a notepad and pen just to jot most of it down like the eager student he is, but man, he’s all studied out at this point.

Scott had listened for a little while, only really focusing on how to stop himself wolfing out in front of this mystery girl and mounting her in broad daylight. He’d only caught a glimpse of her from behind, her flowing brown hair and ample curves seared into the forefront of his mind. But as soon as he’d smelt that intoxicating scent and felt those beastly urges he’d ran the opposite direction, luckily before anyone saw him in Beta shift, or unluckily before he had the chance to see her face.

Peter had given him some tried and tested techniques which helped everyone in his previous pack—including him—when they felt like they were losing control. It’s a simple mind trick, basically a step up from just counting to ten. Repeating the phrase; The Sun, The Moon and The Truth—three things which do not remain long hidden—is supposed to ground you. Stiles likens it to when he has a panic attack and starts reeling out the names of objects surrounding him. He’s dubious, but he’ll give Peter the benefit of the doubt.

Peter told them more about what an actual true mate is to a wolf; apparently, it’s a phenomenon bestowed upon wolf kind by the Gods, or Mother Moon. Stiles kinda liked the sound of it, a bond between two people that cannot be broken—basically soul mates but so much more intense. He’s a sucker for all that romantic shit. He believes his mom and dad were soul mates and if he ever has the chance to feel even half of what they did for each other, that’s when he knows he’ll have found real happiness.

The fact that true mates are supernatural just makes it sound even more appealing. Unconditional love from a werewolf until the end of your days, sign him the fuck up.

He and Scott are walking towards the door, getting ready to leave when Peter puts his hand on his shoulder to halt him. “Come back soon, Stiles. You and Derek have a lot to talk about,” he says with a salacious grin and subtle wink.

Stiles scoffs but his eyebrows crease a little in confusion as Peter moves to open the door for them.

_What do they have to talk about?_

The man offers no more on the subject, even with Stiles' quizzical stare, he just smirks his signature smirk before rolling the door closed behind them with a chirpy, “Goodnight, boys.”

Stiles is a little stunned, but he shakes it off, Peter has proven multiple times that he’s as much of a vague asshole as Deaton so this is no doubt another riddle he has to solve. The man loves testing his intelligence, something he realised after the third time he’d called him a _‘clever boy’_.

They both make their way to the jeep in comfortable silence, Stiles carrying bundles of tomes under his arms while the little vials in his pocket jingle threateningly. Scott has a few scraps of paper in his hand; dates and times for training and a few basic tricks to try if he feels out of control. He has strict orders to be back at Peter’s doorstep before the full moon as he assures them, it will be messy, but other than that training takes place every few days after school.

Stiles would be inclined to believe Scott is a completely new person since his earlier dishevelment in the vet clinic. His usual springing step and disgustingly happy grin are back in full force, but he also has something else about him. Stiles can’t quite place it, but he’s subconsciously reminded of that scene from Bambi when all the animals are... _twitterpated_.

“Hey, Scottie, you good there, buddy?” Stiles queries while spreading the books carefully across his back seat.

“Yeah,” Scott sighs dreamily. “Just- I’m just wondering what her name could be... or what she looks like. I mean, I saw her from the back, and that was- oh, she was gorgeous from the back so imagine what she’ll be like from the front.” His friend groans a little too enthusiastically.

“Wow man, all it took was her smell and a view of her ass, and you’re hooked?” Stiles’ eyebrows rise incredulously, Scott just nods in answer. “That’s... wow, I have no words. Hey, instead of love at first sight, do you think the wolves call it love at first smell?” he asks, only half-joking.

Scott doesn’t acknowledge that last part, climbing into the passenger seat as he talks. “You have no idea, man, just all these feelings I have inside me are like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Remember when you said you got butterflies the first time Lydia talked to you.”

Stiles remembers. “Yeah, that was incredible. _‘Go fuck yourself’_, she’d said, it felt like she’d grabbed my dick. I was all tingly inside.” He gives a dramatic shiver to highlight his words before getting in behind the wheel.

“Gross man,” Scott grimaces, but it doesn’t last long, his apparent bliss too high to bother with being disgusted. “But yeah that’s pretty much how I feel right now but like, so much more intense. It’s amazing.”

“That’s great, Scottie, I’m really happy for you but can you maybe _not _jerk off in my car, I don’t think we’re at that level in our relationship.”

“Christ, Stiles,” Scott chides with a sigh. “You always have to lower the bar.”

Stiles holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not the one practically purring over a woman with a voluptuous ass and the scent of a Yankee candle.”

“I’m not purring.” Scott pouts.

“No? So what’s that growly sound you’re making, huh? You hungry or something?”

Scott turns his face to look out the window; his arms crossed over his chest. “Just drive, Stiles.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles yields, starting the engine with a smirk on his face. “If you’re that desperate, I’ll take the short cut.”

“My god,” Scott whines dramatically. “Why the fuck am I friends with you?”

“‘Cause I’m the best and you love me,” Stiles says matter-of-factly, winking at his friend as he reverses out of his parking bay.

Scott snorts, but there’s a fond smile on his lips. “Yeah, I guess so.”

~

After dropping Scott off at his house—and a little more teasing on his part—Stiles drives home, parking up in his usual spot beside where his father’s police cruiser should be.

Stiles just shrugs, he must have got called in. It’s not unusual; the man often ends up going into work when it’s supposed to be his day off, that’s the life of a Sherriff. Stiles isn’t bitter about it, his father works hard to keep them both in relative comfort, they're nowhere close to being well off, but they’re stable. Stiles is grateful, he just wishes he could spend more time with the man, but he’s grown accustomed to it now.

He opens his front door, distractedly thinking about what he could make for dinner. It’s late, but he hasn’t eaten since that rushed breakfast wrap this morning before meeting Scott at Deaton’s. His stomach is practically eating itself.

He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, muscle memory guiding him through to the kitchen with minimal injury. Once he finally reaches the refrigerator though, his spine gives an involuntary shiver.

_Something doesn’t feel right._

All his breath abruptly catches in his lungs, his hands trembling as he aims towards the light switch. He isn’t sure what’s causing such a reaction, but his gut is screaming at him that something is off. He swallows the saliva accumulating under his tongue, sucking in a shallow breath as he flicks on the light.

He assesses his surroundings, relief washing over him when there’s nothing there. It was just his imagination.

Jesus, he really should stop watching all those crime documentaries and horror movies.

With his heart still pounding away wildly in his chest, he forgoes anything exotic for dinner, grabbing a quick PB&J to sate the urgent fragment of his hunger. He takes his time checking all the windows and doors are locked before heading up to bed with the borrowed books in his arms.

He hadn’t realised how late they’d stayed at Peter’s until he notices the time on the hall clock at the top of the stairs—half-past ten. He’s not tired enough to sleep just yet, his usual sleeping pattern sees him awake until all hours of the morning, but he fancies just chilling on his bed and watching movies. Or maybe he can do some more research, either way, he won’t be sleeping this side of midnight.

He fumbles with his bedroom door, his clumsiness testing his patience as he tries to balance the books in one arm. After several failed attempts he finally manages to nudge it open, again not bothering with the lights, he makes his way over to his desk. He places the weighty tomes on the wooden top with as much care as he can before flopping down haphazardly into his swivel chair.

He takes a moment to let all the tension seep from his muscles, basking in the chance to relax after such an eventful few days. He leans over lazily to pull at the toggle of his desk lamp, the dim orange glow flickers to life, his eyes squinting slightly to adjust to the room’s faint change in brightness. Huffing out a breath, he straightens up to begin studying, but the ominous sound of creaking floorboards halts his movements.

“Hello, Stiles,” a woman’s voice slices through the silence from behind him, his whole body seizes up, his panic rising from the pit of his stomach.

Before he can turn to address the source, a damp cloth is covering his mouth, a sweetly pungent smell hitting his nostrils a second later. His chest barely gets the chance to heave out a scream before his limbs fall limp, and his vision fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that this fic may end up with a few plot holes or unanswered questions, as I'm sprinting to the finish line at this point. I am trying my best to tie off as many loose ends as I can but fair warning, I may miss something. If I manage to get all my unfinished fics done before I go back to work, I might come back to this and either add a part two or just re-edit it again. No promises though as I've still got a lot to do. 
> 
> Let know what you think, your comments and kudos are always appreciated, and I strive to reply to you all as quickly as I can. 
> 
> More on the way soon!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least he’s not gagged, that’s one small mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have another Stiles POV before we go back to Derek.
> 
> This is basically just a gap filler of information; it ties in with what happened in chapter two. It might not make sense if you haven't read that chapter in a while, but its sole purpose is just to introduce a few characters. 
> 
> I'm not overly happy with it, but it is what it is, the next few chapters should be better—and be more action-packed.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Stiles wakes up groggy, his head pounding as his eyes adjust to the light. The smell of stagnant water and mould attacks his nose, the faint coppery tang of blood also makes an appearance, but he tries not to dwell too much on that.

His wrists are bound tightly in front of him, with rope a little too coarse to be considered comfortable. His feet are free to move, lying stretched out as they are, but there’s a heavy chain wrapped around his waist and the pillar he’s propped against which stops him from standing up.

At least he’s not gagged, that’s one small mercy.

Looking around, he guesses he’s in some sort of warehouse or maybe an abandoned underground bunker of sorts. The vast space is empty apart from an ominous-looking wooden chair tipped on its side in the corner of the room. The walls and floors are solid concrete, and there’s water dripping down from the ceiling to puddle across the entire space, but Stiles isn’t exactly sure where it’s leaking from. There are no windows and only one door.

_Fuck._

He doesn’t panic; instead, he works on loosening the bonds around his wrists, wincing as they cut into the skin. Cursing, he gives up, the pain too much to bear, but he still refuses to panic. His dad will find him. As soon as the man comes home from his shift, he’ll notice Stiles’ absence and start looking for him.

_Or maybe Derek will._

He sighs, not bothering to regard the tears welling up in his eyes. He won’t panic, he won’t. Someone will come for him; he just has to bide himself some time. He wants nothing more than to be the hero of his own story, but even he’s not naive enough to believe he’ll ever be getting out of this without help.

He lets his head fall back, connecting against the hard column behind him with a dull _thump_. That’s when he hears it; the breathing. It’s quiet at first, but as he hushes his own inhales, it gets louder between his ears.

He’s not alone.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Christ, he sounds like the stereotypical victim in every low-budget horror movie he’s ever watched. Let’s just hope that isn’t foreshadowing for his escape.

“Are you- is your name Stiles?” A female answers him after a moment, not the same voice from his house; this one sounds younger, more strained. Like she’s struggling to get the words to leave her throat.

Stiles breathes out in relief, “Erm, yeah... that’s me. Who are you? Have you been given the VIP treatment too?” He lifts his bound hands to indicate his meaning but realises belatedly that the voice is coming from the opposite side of the pillar he’s chained too, so she won’t be able to see him.

The woman—girl maybe—sighs, the sound echoing off the walls. “She found you then.”

“Who? Who found me?” he demands a little frantically. “Do you know where we are?”

“Does it matter?” she snaps back, her harsh tone leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “You’re not getting out of here alive.”

Stiles flinches as if struck. “Wow, thanks a bunch, Positive Polly. You’ve just completely brightened up my day,” he deadpans, closing his eyes to fight the wave crashing against his chest. He won’t panic.

The stranger snorts. “Are you always this facetious, or are you just trying to distract yourself from the inevitable?”

“Does it matter?” Stiles huffs mockingly. “According to you, I’m going to be dead soon, so I might as well go down with my sense of humour still intact.”

There’s a long pause, and Stiles is convinced he’s managed to drive off his only company—his only chance at conversation—when the stranger speaks again. “My names Cora.”

_Why does that sound familiar?_

“Nice to meet you, Cora,” he greets with more chirpiness than some might consider normal given the circumstances, tipping his imaginary hat as if an old English gentleman. “I’m Stiles Stilinski.”

“I know,” she chuckles on an exhale. “I’ve heard you’re dating my brother... well, that’s the rumour around here anyway.”

_Hold up._

“Wait...” He twists his body to the side, growling in frustration when he can’t even move enough to attempt to search for where the girl is in the room. “You’re Derek’s younger sister?” At her affirmative hum, he loses all sense of calm.

_Queue the rambling._

“Holy shit,” he exclaims probably a bit too loudly. “Everyone thought you were dead. On the original police reports, the only known survivor was Peter... with Derek and Laura being unaccounted for. Peter’s no doubt fiddled with the files since then, but they ruled you as deceased. How... how are you alive?”

Stiles read about the Hale fire a few years ago, after he’d acquired enough skill to lock pick his dad’s filing cabinet. He didn’t understand how it could have been so quickly ruled as an electrical fault without thorough investigation. It was all just abandoned. It wasn’t until Derek relayed the events of that night to him that he realised he’d been right to be suspicious, it wasn’t an accident at all, it was murder. The hunters must have paid the police force to cover it up or had someone working on the inside. He also never understood why they hadn’t sent out a search party for Derek and Laura when they could have been witnesses, but that was just more of Kate covering her tracks.

He’d asked his dad about it back then but was dismissed, apparently too young to be worrying about such things. So, he also had forgotten about it, but the faces of the Hales stayed permanently seared in his mind, that’s how he recognised Derek the first time they met in the woods. The picture he’d seen of Cora Hale in the files, if he remembers correctly, was of a smiling young girl of nine. She looked much like Derek—well, all the Hale children really—with ebony hair, impressive dark eyebrows and piercing green eyes.

Everyone must have just assumed she’d died with the rest of them or were told just to believe it.

Cora doesn’t answer him right away, to be honest, he should have known better than to pry, especially into a strangers business, but his mouth always has a habit of running away with itself.

Before he can apologise for sticking his nose where it’s probably not wanted, she speaks. “I managed to escape through the underground tunnels. The hunters blocked them up, but being small, I was able to squeeze through a gap in the rocks.” Stiles hears her sniffle, and he instantly feels guilty, but he keeps quiet. “I didn’t want to leave, my family were dying around me, and I wanted to help, I wanted to stop it. But my mother told me to go, to run and never look back. I was just a child; I just did as my Alpha commanded me but... the screams... they will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Tears slide down Stiles’ cheeks; he can’t imagine how she must have felt. How terrified she must have been at that moment, being forced to leave her family behind when they were all crying out in agony, too young to fully understand what was happening as the pack bonds withered away one by one.

He listens intently as she tells him how she’d ran until her feet bled, not even bothering to wait until they healed before running some more. She somehow ended up in San Francisco, not fully aware of how she spent the days or maybe even weeks between leaving her home town and arriving there, broken and dirty. All she remembers is the running.

She took refuge with a small, insignificant pack there. They were nothing special, but they were kind, they took her in without second thought and never hounded her for her story. She told them that everyone in her pack was dead, that she has no more family, they didn’t pry, just welcomed her into there’s with open arms.

Six years she lived with them, grew with them. They weren’t family, not really, but she considered them her friends. For some reason pack bonds never snapped into place even after the years, but they kept her safe anyway, loved her anyway.

That was until Kate Argent came.

Stiles bristles at the name, his face twisting into an angry scowl, remembering Derek’s story and the pain in his voice as he’d recalled the tragic memories. He hasn’t even fully been acquainted with the woman, but he’s never hated someone more.

Kate brutally murdered the pack, storming into their haven and treating them as no better than wild animals. The mother, the eldest daughter, the son, the youngest daughter. They were innocent, completely innocent but she slaughtered them anyway, just like she did the Hales.

She kept the father alive, the Alpha. She used some concoction made from a rare breed of plant Cora called wolfsbane; it drove him insane. He went almost feral but would somehow listen to her every command like a puppet. She ordered him to lure the last remaining Hale’s back to Beacon Hills, to kill them.

That’s when Cora found out Peter, Derek and Laura were still alive. She was apparently too far away from them to feel the pack bonds, that’s why she believed them dead for all those years.

The Alpha sent Derek and Laura a note telling them the exact whereabouts of Peter and a false location for Cora, Kate wanted her dead but didn’t want to lose her leverage if her plan didn’t go as expected. According to Cora—and Stiles believes her assessment—the woman is madness personified, but she’s careful. Like most psychopaths, she’s doesn’t do anything without an escape route.

Even with her meticulousness, spending years forming a plot to bring down the Hales that got away, she didn’t succeed. The Alpha killed Laura, but, much to Kate’s annoyance, Peter killed the Alpha and took the spark, meaning she had to retreat to re-scheme.

That was just over ten months ago.

“It wasn’t until a few days ago that she started raving about my brother’s new chew toy,” Cora sneers. “Saying it’s her opportunity to finally bring us all down.”

Stiles brings his hands up to his face, wiping away the wet before clearing his throat. “Why didn’t she kill you anyway? Or use you again? Why keep you here all this time without another word?”

“Oh a few of them tried to kill me, almost succeeded too,” Cora explains. “A few hours before the Alpha killed Laura; Kate ordered them to torture me to unconsciousness, in case she needed to flee. I’m apparently easier to move when I’m not fighting back.” She laughs, but the sound falls flat. “The hunters got a bit carried away, they anticipated the death of the Hales by morning so didn’t see any point in keeping me alive. But just as my eyes were about to close for the last time, something weird happened...”

Derek didn’t inherit Laura’s spark as he should have; it went to Cora instead. By some miracle, Laura’s wolf sensed a downed pack mate as she lay dying, and since she knew her minutes left were numbered she willed her spark to heal whoever was calling out for its power. Gerard (Kate’s father—another human Stiles dreads to meet) was the one who told Cora about it, said he’d read in the old tomes a legend about Alpha’s handing over their power to heal another packmate, but he’d branded it a myth. Usually, when an Alpha dies the spark transfers to the heir or is passed to the wolf who killed them. But it’s never heard of as being used to heal—or it just hasn’t been recorded.

“Kate wouldn’t go near me for months afterwards, nor any of her lackeys. Afraid I was some sort of mutant Alpha born of black magic and witchcraft,” Cora scoffs. “Stupid bitch.”

_Fair statement._

“The spark didn’t make me an Alpha, just knitted my wounds,” she continues. “Gerard ordered that I be kept down here ever since. I think he fears me a little too, or at the very least, is superstitious about what happened.”

“God, I loathe these fuckers,” Stiles spits.

Cora snorts. “Tell me about it.”

“So, let me guess, she somehow found out about Derek and me and has decided to use me as leverage?”

“I don’t know exactly what they are planning; she only mentioned your name while rubbing my packs anticipated demise in my face yet again. I didn’t get the privilege of being in the know of all the gory details this time around. But now with having the option of using the both of us as bait, I’m sure they’ve come up with something merciless.”

Stiles has a million and one thoughts going through his head, his curiosity nudging him to ask more questions but somehow the gleeful face of his best friend pops into his mind, his puppy dog expression making his gut sink.

“Scott’s part of the pack now too,” he mutters mostly to himself before his heartbeat picks up pace, his face paling in realisation. “Oh god, what if my dad comes, will she kill him too?”

Cora doesn’t miss a beat. “Probably.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he mutters hysterically.

_So much for not panicking._

Suddenly everything feels too tight, his limbs tensing as the walls close in on him. His mouth goes dry, his throat constricting around the air his lungs are desperately trying to inhale. His vision disfigures as if looking through a fish-eye lens, tears gushing down his face but he’s too numb to notice the familiar tickle. The only thought swarming his head is that he’s already lost his mother, he can’t lose his father too.

“Stiles... hey, breathe.” Cora’s voice is distorted in his eardrums; her words warbled as if they’re both underwater. “You have to calm down, please, just... just breathe.”

He’s not sure how long he’s in this state of gradual suffocation, but it feels like forever. It isn’t until he senses his body’s imminent collapse that a wave of dreamlike fantasy washes over him, something sparking him back to consciousness.

Images flicker in the empty void of his mind; sparkling green orbs, a secretive tender smile, strong hands wrapping around his waist treating him as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. There’s a rich rumbling voice, an earthen woodsy scent, the tingle of electric sending a shiver down his spine. A wolf appears, jet black fur shining in the dim light of the forest, eyes flashing supernatural blue as it howls mournfully towards the moon.

_Derek._

He knows. Derek knows he’s been taken, and he’s coming for him.

His chest loosens, his breathing evening out as his vision clears, the residual wet against his lashes is still hindering his sight, but he blinks them away. He rests his head against the column, focusing on the memory of Derek, repeating the words swirled across that little scrap of paper he’d left on his pillow over and over again. Usually, he’d use his surroundings to ground him, listing off objects, focusing on sounds and smells but he doesn’t want to think about where he is right now. Not until he’s calmed himself down completely.

Cora is uttering soft words of encouragement, relief evident in her tone when his heart begins to slow from its battering pace. “That’s it; just breathe.”

His eyes are heavy, his lids dropping without much resistance, but he forces himself to stay awake. Though his body is crying out in exhaustion, he needs to reassure himself, even if Cora thinks it impossible. “We’re not going to die. We’re not.”

Silence falls between them, and for once, Stiles is grateful for it.

~

A loud _bang_ startles him from his trance. He hadn’t been asleep, his body too on edge to trust his surroundings enough to doze off but he’d been deep in thought, about what, he suddenly can’t remember as his gaze falls on the figure stalking towards him.

A man; a grandfather in appearance; receding grey hairline, overly wrinkled skin and blemishes that come from advanced age. He walks with a slight limp, but his features show no indication of discomfort.

If Stiles saw this man making his way towards him in a dark alley, he’d turn and run the opposite direction—probably straight to the police station.

“I was beginning to worry that the dose Kate gave you had been too strong,” the stranger chirps. “It’s good to see you finally conscious, Stiles.”

“I’m sure it is,” he retorts, his lip curling in distaste for the man’s grimy smirk. “You must be Gerard. I would say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, but my father always told me not to lie.”

“I see your roommate has mentioned me, I’m flattered.” Gerard grins, his yellow stained teeth making Stiles’ stomach churn. “Your father, he’s our honourable Sheriff if I’m not mistaken? Never met the man personally but I’ve been told good things.”

“You leave him out of this,” Stiles hisses, lurching forward until the chains halt his movement. The man doesn’t flinch, just looks down at him in vile amusement.

Gerard crouches down to his height, his knees cracking as he goes. “I’m not an unreasonable man, Stiles. If the Sheriff stays out of the way, I will have no reason to harm him.”

“Stay out of the way of what?”

Gerard chuckles, the sound making Stiles shudder in disgust. “I’m sure the little Hale bitch has already filled you in on the ultimate goal.”

Before he realises what he’s doing, Stiles spits in the man’s face, smirking when Gerard’s smile falters making way for a momentary flicker of pure rage before it disappears.

Gerard scoffs, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket inside his suit jacket to clean himself. “Now, that wasn’t very friendly, was it, boy?” The last word is laced with venom—Stiles is getting under his skin.

_Good._

“Yeah well, neither was kidnapping me, but here we are,” Stiles retorts dryly. “Or kidnapping Cora, or murdering her family and planning on doing the same to the ones who escaped. I think the ‘_friendly’_ ship has sunk to the bottom of the ocean, don’t you?”

“Those mutts deserved everything they got,” Gerard growls, his face reddening in anger, eyes blown black with hatred. “Savage beasts should be put down.”

“So should rapists, yet your daughter still lives.” He wasn’t expecting the hit, nor the power behind it, his neck jerks to the side as the sharp stinging blooms across his cheek. His tongue darts out to soothe the ache at the corner of his lip, wincing when he licks across the blood beading from the split skin.

_This guy isn’t as frail as he appears._

“Did I hit a nerve?” Stiles taunts, not sure why his mouth is insisting on provoking the man who literally has him clapped in chains. But he never did develop much in the way of preservation instincts, or common sense. “What, you don’t like hearing the truth?” Stiles chuckles darkly. “You know, It wouldn’t surprise me if Kate’s depravity were an inherited family trait, considering you both have a penchant for murdering innocents, why not add rape to that list?”

Gerard’s fingers curl into the hair on the back of his head, yanking harshly until his neck arches backwards. Stiles yelps but clenches his teeth tightly, stopping any more cries from leaving his throat. He refuses to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him react to the searing agony.

Gerard reduces the distance between them until Stiles can feel the mans clammy, putrid breath ghosting across his face. He wants to turn away, to gag at the stale smell filling his nostrils, but he stands his ground. He won’t let Gerard win.

“I’d be careful, Stiles,” the man chides against his ear, his sweat-slicked skin sliding over Stiles’ cheek as he moves his lips close to his ear. “I can make you suffer. Torture you until you beg me for death.” Stiles flinches as Gerard’s tongue swipes across his lobe, bile rising from the pit of his gut when the man groans. His eyes water as the grip in his hair tightens, his whole body frozen in fear. “Oh, the things I could do to you... even the thought of it excites me.”

All the colour drains from his complexion. The hold against his head loosens, the man moving away just as Stiles bows over to empty the contents of his stomach onto the concrete beside him.

He heaves until all that’s leaving his mouth is saliva, straightening himself back up before lifting his arms to smear his lips on the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

Gerard smirks, smugness radiating off the man at having affected him so. “Or you could just cooperate, be a good boy and I might consider being merciful, granting you a swift and painless end.”

Stiles no longer has the same amount of energy to morph his face into a look of disdain, he just swallows the burning in his throat, forcing long breaths through his nose to calm his budding panic. “Either way I die, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” The man’s self-satisfaction doesn’t waver. “I can’t have you telling Daddy about us now can I? Plus, you’ve allied yourself with the enemy, that makes you just as much an abomination as they are.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, just scoffs indignantly, his head lolling backwards as his muscles strain with fatigue.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve broken him already,” a feigned saccharine sweet voice pierces through the room. Stiles instantly tenses even with his body’s disapproval, his fury boiling up once more. “I was hoping to play with him before the real entertainment arrives.”

Her heels _click_ on the ground as she saunters into view, Stiles can’t help glaring up at the woman he already despises with a severe unyielding passion.

He doesn’t doubt that she could be considered a bombshell beauty; her face is not unpleasant to look at if you aren’t already aware of the real distortion beneath. But, Stiles is all too aware of the ugliness within her soul; her heart as cold and demented as her fathers. She may have pretty eyes and perfect flowing curls, but Stiles can’t see past the grotesque state of her true character.

“I have to say; I can see the appeal.” She tilts his chin up with her finger, her nail biting into the skin. “Derek really does have taste... you’re kinda cute.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Stiles snaps, baring his teeth in a snarl.

She throws her head back and laughs, its almost maniacal. “Absolutely adorable.” She grabs his jaw in a punishing grip, harsh enough to leave bruises. “I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.”

“Leave him alone you sadistic cunt,” Cora barks at Stiles’ whimper of pain.

Kate chuckles in delight. “Ooh, you’ve only been in here a few hours, and you’ve already got his sister defending your honour... working your way through the family, are you? I like it.” She winks flirtatiously. “Tell me, have you fucked the older Hale yet? He was my first choice, but apparently, I’m not his type, if you catch my drift?”

“And here I thought you preferred children,” Stiles spits. “So much more susceptible to emotional manipulation, don’t you think?”

“True,” she shrugs, nodding in agreement. “And it worked out for the best in the end, but I can’t help mourn the loss of a guy like Peter... I mean, the man is smoking hot.”

“Daughter, you know you shouldn’t say such things,” Gerard sneers. “Else I start to believe you’ve grown fond of the disgusting creatures.”

“Don’t be ridiculous...” Kate scoffs, her fingers relaxing from Stiles’ jaw as she turns to address the man. “I’m allowed to appreciate a handsome face, father, without being accused of caring.”

Stiles and Cora snort in unison. “I doubt anyone would ever accuse you of that.” It’s Cora who says it, but Stiles was thinking the same thing.

Kate turns back to face him, glaring menacingly. “You both have too much spirit, given the circumstances,” she jeers with a humourless smile. “I have to admit though; I am impressed that you, Cora dear, still have your wits about you. I mean, you lost your pack bonds, then that family you lived with met a similarly _unfortunate end_.” She chuckles unkindly. “Aren’t you feeling at least a little bit lonely? Or maybe even feral? I can’t imagine how it feels to be completely alone in the world.”

Cora doesn’t answer, but Stiles can imagine her heart sinking in misery at the indignity. His skin heats with rage. “She’s not alone; she still has her pack.”

“Oh, but dear boy, she’s too far underground and encased in too much mountain ash for the bonds to be restored. Until those mutts barge through that door, as I depend on, she’s no more than an empty husk. A lone wolf.”

Stiles’ eyebrows crease in confusion. “Bu-but Laura, she felt the bond.”

Kate looks vaguely bored, no longer putting on a show of morbid amusement. “Yes... the bitch must have been stronger than I anticipated, or used some sort of _spell_ to track her sisters wilted connection,” she grumbles in irritation. “Either way, I took extra precautions to ensure that it didn’t happen again.”

“Peter’s strong,” Stiles yells, his voice breaking as he loses control of his emotions. “And so is Derek. They’ll destroy you!”

“Derek is pathetic,” she snickers. “He always was and always will be. As for Peter, well, he may be a powerful Alpha, but he too has his weaknesses. An Achilles heel, so to speak.”

“You’ll never succeed,” Stiles grits through his teeth, but even to his own ears, the threat sounds hollow. 

Kate squats down in front of him, her fingers caressing his cheek in a faux display of gentleness. “Oh, my sweet, stupid, little boy... I already have.”

Stiles doesn’t have time to process the words before her fist connects with his face, her vicious patronising grin the last thing he sees before succumbing to oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've mentioned it before at some point, but my fic may not coincide with the rules of werewolves from the show. I didn't watch it too closely; I just remember bits of the plot, so I've no idea if anything in this chapter makes sense when it comes to passing on an Alpha spark but let's just pretend. 
> 
> I was going to go into vivid detail of Kate torturing Stiles, but I decided against it. This chapter was only supposed to be two thousand words, but it just kept expanding so I thought I better wrap it up lest I ramble on. It will be happening in the background though, in either the next chapter or the one after that. But it just won't be outright described. 
> 
> PSA: I hate Kate and Gerard Argent. Thank you and good night. 
> 
> If you think I've missed any tags or need me to add warnings, let me know.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter had called him on his drive back to let him know Stiles and Scott had spent most of the day in the Loft enquiring about true mates. 
> 
> Derek had a momentarily collapse in brain function, much to his uncle’s amusement, but the man was quick enough to assure him it was all for Scott’s benefit, not Stiles’. Apparently, the new Beta has already found his true mate wandering about Beacon.
> 
> There must be something in the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I took longer than planned to update. I had the last three chapters outlined, but it's just taking me a little more time to edit them all as I keep thinking of stuff to add. 
> 
> This chapter is quite short 'cause the next two are hopefully going to be pretty long and detailed. A lot happens, so fingers crossed I can pull my finger out and get them edited and uploaded soon. 
> 
> I think I could have gone further with this chapter, but I needed to post something, and my brain didn't want to work. I hope you enjoy it for what it is. There will be a load of mistakes as it's late and I haven't really read through it. I'll fix them once I've woken up, but my impatience is getting the better of me.
> 
> Stay safe, everyone!

After spending the day tending to pack errands at his Alphas request, Derek is grateful to finally get the chance to see Stiles again.

He found it difficult to concentrate, functioning mostly on the anticipation of holding his mate once he was finished visiting the surrounding packs. To be honest, he hadn’t much cared for where he’s been today or what he’s been doing, too busy imagining soft, mole dotted skin and bright amber eyes to pay much attention.

Well, now he doesn’t have to dwell on what his day has entailed as he parks his Camaro a few streets from Stiles’ house.

Peter had called him on his drive back to let him know Stiles and Scott spent most of the day in the Loft enquiring about true mates.

Derek had a momentarily collapse in brain function, much to his uncle’s amusement, but the man was quick enough to assure him it had all been for Scott’s benefit, not Stiles’. Apparently, the new Beta has already found his true mate wandering about Beacon.

_There must be something in the water._

Once he’d hung up the phone, Derek decided tonight is the night he’ll tell Stiles precisely what he means to him. He sees no point waiting until the boy is eighteen for that sort of revelation—he’s entitled to know.

Stiles is also incredibly smart, and Derek doesn’t want to risk the boy finding out about the phenomenon between them all on his own, he’d rather tell him himself. Face to face. 

He prays to the Gods that it won’t scare his mate away, but after their talk yesterday, he’s a little more confident that the odds are in his favour. The boy seems as genuine in his affections as Derek is, though he hopes Stiles can imagine a forever with him, not just a passing fancy. 

It takes him no time to reach Stiles' front door, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he strides up the steps. The Sheriff isn’t home—thankfully—so he opts for ringing the doorbell.

He waits a moment, standing on the porch with his hands casually in the pockets of his new leather jacket. Stiles hasn’t yet returned his old one, not that he minds one bit, his wolf is ecstatic with the thought of his mate wearing his clothes.

His brow creases as no answer comes to the door, no sound of movement catching his ears either. He twists his body around, shooting another glance behind him to make sure his love-addled brain hadn’t hallucinated the baby blue Jeep in the driveway.

For all the months Derek has watched the boy, he rarely goes anywhere without his Jeep. The school and Scott’s house are far enough away that walking isn’t exactly practical, it’s doable, but for an inactive teen like Stiles, driving is the favoured option. 

He rings the bell again, pressing down on the button with slightly more force than is probably necessary as if it'll make it ring louder. His heart starts to pick up pace with every second his advanced hearing doesn’t detect any sign of motion.

Taking his phone out his pocket, he notices the time is close to midnight. He knows the boy won’t be asleep, being the night owl that he is, but regardless, he hears no heartbeat, peacefully steady in slumber or otherwise.

He knows the teen has a curfew, his father very strict on that aspect; eleven is his deadline and while he’s seen the boy break it a few times since meeting him, he can’t think of where he’d be tonight.

Peter had said the boys left not long after ten. He’d have guessed they stayed at Scott’s house had the Jeep not been here. But it is, so where the Hell is Stiles?

Derek feels the familiar clenching in his chest, the burning flames of panic rising from the pit of his gut. He swallows thickly, trying to distract himself from the crippling nausea overtaking him.

Without another thought, he leaps onto the ledge of Stiles’ window, taking care to open it fully. He climbs through on trembling legs, every one of his senses on high alert.

It isn’t until both feet hit the carpet below that his nose detects a scent which makes his wolf claw to the surface.

Chloroform... and Kate Argent. 

_She was here; she has Stiles. _

Derek’s panic erupts, an overwhelming whirlwind of emotions taking over him. Fury, hatred, hopelessness. His muscles tense violently as his fists connect with anything in his immediate vicinity, objects smashing near to dust under his wrath, his mind too busy to comprehend the resulting mess. 

His skin breaks, bleeding profusely then healing, the cycle repeating itself until there’s nothing left for him to destroy. The image of Kates smirking face projected onto every innocent piece of furniture in Stiles’ room. 

His chest heaves from equal parts exertion and adrenaline, his wolf urging him to hurt, to maim, to _kill_ anything between him and his mate. He can’t control it, he’s losing the willpower he has over the beast inside him; the last few months are nothing in comparison to the strain he now feels on his control. 

His claws sharpen to yellow points, his teeth elongating to bloodthirsty fangs as his eyes flare supernatural blue. His face contorts, the bones protruding as his body submits to the Beta shift on impulse, but this time it goes further than he’s ever experienced before. The hurt in his heart is too great to stop the transition. 

Muscle and skeleton twist and bend, his limbs sprouting raven black fur. He hunches over in agony, the searing pain of his back cracking renders him a heap on the floor. He opens his mouth to cry out, to scream through the hurt, but nothing leaves his throat.

His face ripples as if being pricked by thousands of tiny needles, stretching obscenely into features no longer Derek’s. Features that are now more animal than human.

Looking down through sapphire tinged vision, he notices he no longer carries himself on hands and feet but on paws.

He’s lost control. He’s broken. 

Snarling in frustration, the torture of the shift now a dull ache, he tilts his neck back—his head that of a monstrous wolf—before howling mournfully through the open window.

The noise shakes the foundations of the house, a thunderous melancholy sound that vibrates ominously off the walls and floors, rattling the glass from their panes.

Stiles is gone, his mate has been taken. He doesn’t know what else to do but call out for his pack. To howl into the night until the intensity of his rage can be heard from all four corners of Beacon. 

Before he even notices his new limbs moving, he pounces through the window, landing with a tremendous_ thud_ onto the grass below.

He runs, his paws carrying him quicker than feet ever could. 

He has to find Stiles.

~

Peter halts him on his second half-crazed circuit of the preserve, having answered his Betas distressed call as quickly as he could.

His Alphas face falls, paling in complexion as soon as he looks upon Derek’s bestial state. “Oh, Derek,” he whispers sympathetically, his hand coming out to smooth through the fur atop his head. “What’s happened?”

Derek doesn’t want to stop his search, but with his Alpha being so close he can’t stop his instincts seeking out the offered comfort. He whines pitifully, unable to voice his issue, bowing his head he allows his Alphas touch to soothe his aching bones. 

“Can you change back?” Peter asks next, his fingers still stroking through his pelt.

Derek huffs out what he hopes is a negative gesture. He tried, but the moons pull is too strong, his mental state too frayed for him to even consider changing back.

This has never happened to him before. Usually, it takes years of practice for a werewolf to be able to shift into a full animal, unless they are an Alpha, in which case it’s like second nature. But, Derek has never even had the chance to contemplate shifting like this, never mind practising it. A subtle fear in the back of his mind tells him it may be irreversible, but he’ll worry about it later.

He has to find Stiles. 

“Is it Stiles?” Peter asks as if reading his mind but not quite getting the whole story. “Has he rejected you?”

That kick-starts Derek’s rage once more, jerking away from his uncle’s hold to growl threateningly.

“Calm yourself, nephew,” Peter commands, not going as far as flashing his eyes but the tone brooks no-nonsense. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s caused this... this change.” Peter signals his hand towards him, and Derek bristles further at not being able to communicate properly. “I should be proud that you’ve managed it, but since you’ve never been trained on your full shift, it means something traumatic has forced it out of you prematurely,” his uncle continues, more talking to himself as his face furrows in concentration. “And that’s not good.” 

Derek barks, ignoring his uncle’s words. He gnashes his fangs towards him, tossing his head to the side, trying to get the man to follow him.

That’s the moment Scott stumbles unceremoniously into the forest with all the grace of a drunken elephant. “What’s happe-” The boy flails frantically, looking as if he’s just awoken from a deep slumber, his words cut off as his eyes catch sight of the humongous wolf beside his Alpha. “Holy shit, is that-”

“Derek, yes,” Peter answers dryly, studying Derek with an intensity that may just bore straight through to his very soul.

They’re wasting time.

Snorting air through his nose, Derek tries again to telepathically talk to his Alpha, concentrating with all his might to grab hold of their bond and signal for him to follow. 

“He wants you to follow him,” Scott comments matter-of-factly, flinching slightly when his Alpha gazes at him expectantly. “I work with animals, I’ve learnt a few behavioural traits of dogs,” Derek rumbles, irritated, Scott holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry man, but wolves and dogs are very similar; I meant no disrespect.”

Derek huffs but looks up at his Alpha, tilting his ears in what he hopes confirms Scott’s theory. 

Peter assesses him for a moment and if Derek could roll his eyes at the man, he would.

_So smart, yet still so bloody dense. _

Scott coughs into his hand, his voice coming out a little sheepishly. “He thinks you’re an idiot.”

Derek snorts, or a sound close to it, not surprised when his Alpha glares at the noise. “Right, well, come on then,” Peter exclaims, not voicing a reply to Scott’s comment; instead he moves forward as if to pursue. 

Derek yips, twisting around and leaping into a sprint towards Stiles’ house, not even bothering to look over his shoulder to see if his pack are close behind him.

Inside his head, an echoey chant repeats itself, a mantra reeling off between his ears as he forces his limbs to move faster. 

_Find Stiles. Find Stiles. Find Stiles._

~

As soon as they get within a few feet of Stiles’ house, Peter’s eyes blaze red, his claws extending in his fury. “Kate Argent,” he slurs through teeth too long to be considered human.

Derek whines low in his throat at the name. Peter must smell her scent and the drugs she used to render Stiles immobile. Something in his heart tightens at his Alphas obvious distress. Stiles is a member of his pack just as much as Derek and Scott, he cares just as much about getting him back safely as they do. 

Peter’s eyes fall to Derek at the woeful sound, running his fingers through his coat once again to soothe him. “We’ll find him, I promise. I won’t stop until he’s back in your arms and that _bitch_ is lifeless under my claws.” He spits the words with venom, his ardour for seeking revenge on the ones who killed their family evident in his tone. 

“What... what’s going on?” Scott comes to a stop beside them, not quite fast enough yet to keep up. “Where’s Stiles?”

Derek can sense his packmate’s panic; he may not know Kate’s scent as he and Peter do, but he’ll know something is amiss.

“He’s been taken,” Peter rumbles, trying to keep calm but the mere mention of the Argents causing his control to falter. “By hunters.”

“What?!” Scott shouts. “Why would they- what do they want him for?”

“To get to us,” Peter replies simply.

Scott looks too much of an emotional mess to process what his Alpha has just said. His hands are frantically pulling at his hair, as he paces in front of them. “We have to find him, we have to get him back,” he mutters mostly to himself before looking up as if he has an idea. “I’ll call his dad, maybe he-”

“No,” Peter moves forward, his hand leaving Derek’s fur to place them both on Scott’s shoulders, stopping his movements. “No police. We can handle it. We can’t risk our kind by getting them involved, even if it’s Stiles’ father.” Peter curls his fingers around the back of Scott’s neck, sending calming pheromones through their bond.

“But-”

Peter’s hand squeezes tighter, his face sincere. “Trust me.” 

Scott opens his mouth as if he’s about to argue but sighs when he sees the look on Peter’s face. “I do, Alpha... but we have to find him.”

“He’s part of my pack, my family too, Scott, I’ll do everything I can.” Peter smiles at his Beta, offering as much normalcy as possible. It wouldn’t do him any favours for both his Betas to lose their minds. “Our best option is to try to locate him through scent.” He turns to Derek then, taking a small step back from Scott. “Derek you should be able to do that better than either of us, considering the bond.” 

“What bond?” Scott questions, a little distracted by the effects of Peters touch. 

Peter turns back to Scott with a patient smile. “Another time,” he offers, running his hand over the boy’s neck once more before addressing them both. “Both of you scour the area, try to find any indication of where she could have taken him. Hunters have ways of covering up scents, but you might be able to pick up something, even something minor.” Derek steps forwards jutting out his head towards his Alpha in question. “I’m going back to the Loft; I need to get together a list of all the known locations Kate could have taken him.”

“Why would they take him somewhere you know about?” Scott huffs. “Surely that’s the first rule of kidnapping? Keeping it a secret.”

“They want us to find him, that’s the point,” the Alpha answers. “They’ve taken him to get us to come to them, to trap us. To _kill_ us.” Scott gulps audibly at Peters words. “I doubt they’ll have made it easy, but they won’t be completely hidden either.”

“Why do they want to kill you so badly?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as all this is over, Scott, I promise. Just help me find him, help me get him back and I’ll explain everything.” Peter pleads, and Derek can sense the urgency in his expression.

“He’s my brother.” Scott puffs out his chest, brow furrowing as if there was never any other option. “I’ll never abandon him.” 

Peter smiles; his pride for his Beta ringing through the pack bonds. “Right, both of you go before any scents disappear into the air. Come back to the Loft if you find anything.” He points an accusing finger towards them both, but mostly to Derek. “Do not go running into danger alone. Is that clear?”

Derek huffs petulantly. 

“Derek, I mean it,” Peters tone borders on command. “I can’t imagine how you are feeling right now but don’t do anything rash. You can’t save him if you’re dead.”

Derek doesn’t want to agree with the man, but he’s right. There would be no use in him jumping in headfirst without his pack behind him; he’d get nowhere.

He tilts his head down in agreement, offering his submission. Peter nods his acceptance before looking to Scott for the same confirmation.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Peter takes one last look at them before offering a final concerned plea. “Be careful. Both of you.”

~

Derek has searched for hours. After leaving Scott to scout in the opposite direction, he trailed through the preserve after any hint of his mates scent lingering in the air.

Scott had taken to the streets of Beacon, seeking out even the slightest crumb that could lead them to Stiles. With Derek’s _condition_, it wouldn’t be smart for him to prowl out in the open, so Scott was their best bet for looking through the town. Which means Derek is stuck patrolling the outskirts, keeping to the shadows so as not to alert anyone of anything supernatural. Wolves are not inhabitants of Beacon, or at least not regular wolves anyway, so he knows it’s safer for the pack if he stays in the forests, but he still can’t help feeling useless.

The odd occasion he thinks he’s picked up Stiles’ scent, it leaves him as quickly as it first assaulted his nose. He’s not entirely sure if it’s his imagination, if the intense feeling he has for the boy is playing tricks on his mind or if he can actually sense him on the wind. Either way, he’s coming up with nothing. 

Its obvious Kate has taken measures to cover up her tracks, no doubt knowing Derek will be intimate with the particular aroma. She’s clearly been lying in wait until the opportune moment, spying on them for any nugget of information she could use to her advantage.

Derek wouldn’t put it past her, even in her insanity, if she’s guessed just how important the boy is to him. If she has, she’s even more dangerous than they anticipate. If she’s taken Stiles off the streets with the assumption that Derek has simple feelings towards him, then she can be beaten, as she doesn’t quite realise the extent of her upper hand. But, if she knows he’s his true mate, she’s already won. 

His heart breaks a little more at the thought; a high pitched whine ripping from his chest as he slowly loses hope. He contemplates just returning to the Loft, his head hanging low in defeat.

His ears pick up an uncoordinated thumping, a distant sound getting closer and closer with every beat of his heart.

He drops down on his back legs, preparing himself to lunge at whatever is galumphing through the woods towards him. Teeth bared in wait for fighting off any unexpected danger. 

Scott breaks through the trees, panting, holding his phone out in his hand as he catches his breath.

Derek relaxes, all the air in his lungs leaving his nostrils as he takes in the welcome sight of his packmate. He's glad he didn't opt for the attack on sight approach. That wouldn't have been pleasant for anyone involved.

It takes Scott a moment to compose himself, still not fully united with his heightened strengths. The asthma that once ailed him is putting a temporary blocker on his new stamina. “Peter... he’s found something, or at least he... he has something that might help,” he explains through gulping inhales. 

Derek’s eyes flash supernatural blue at the Betas words, his hope rising back up from the depths of his despair. Scott’s eyes shimmer in answer, letting out a pained sigh as Derek takes off in a sprint towards The Loft, willing him to follow.

His paws pound against the crisp forest floor, the wind whipping through his fur as he races to get to his uncle. Towards whatever help is on offer. 

_There's hope yet._

~

The ‘_help’ _apparently comes in the form of one Allison Argent. 

Derek growls, a dangerous sound loud enough to vibrate through the floorboards as he frantically claws through the apartment door before Peter can open it fully. He barges in to confront the niece and granddaughter of his greatest enemies, the mere sight of her making his blood boil. 

He circles her, his back raised, lips curled over his fangs as he snarls at the thin slip of a girl standing frozen in their pack den.

Her eyes widen in horror at Derek’s menacing appearance, clearly not expecting an entirely shifted werewolf in place of Peter’s nephew. Derek can hear her heart pounding in her chest, battering against her ribs with a force strong enough to break through flesh and bone. 

“Settle, Nephew,” Peter offers casually, after granting Derek a moment to intimidate the girl, a subtle hint of indulgent amusement evident in his tone. Even though his face is impassive, Derek can sense his Alphas own hatred and wariness through the bond, but he’s still enjoying the girl’s discomfort. “Allison here is offering her help.”

“And my fathers.” She holds up her hands in an appeasing gesture, her voice small and cowed, the smell of fear putrid in the air. 

_Good_, Derek thinks. _Be scared of me._

Neither Peter nor Derek has had the_ pleasure_ of meeting Allison or her father Christopher, but they know of them. Peter had made sure to study every member of the Argent clan when they’d started rebuilding their lives. He didn’t want either of them to fall prey to another of that cursed family, so he’d made files, with pictures and critical information to memorise in the event they ever cross paths.

Chris and his daughter Allison had left Beacon Hills a few years ago, after his wife—and her mother—Victoria died. They wanted time to grieve, doing so by backpacking through France or perhaps honing Allison’s werewolf slaying skills. Either way, it appears they are done with their mourning and are back in town. 

“I mean your pack no harm, I swear it,” Allison breaks the silence, looking desperately to Peter, probably pleading for assistance as Derek prowls closer, his hackles raised, head dipped low as if about to pounce. “Please, we want to help. We know where they are keeping Stiles.” 

Derek snaps his jaws at the mention of his mate rolling off the Argent girls tongue, relishing in her startled jump backwards but he doesn’t move any closer. He doesn’t lose his threatening posture, but he eases up a little—for now.

Allison studies him for a beat before bringing her hands back to her sides. She’s noticed his demeanour calming slightly, at least enough for her to assume she’s being granted the chance to explain. 

She opens her mouth to speak again, but at the very same moment, Scott burst through the door, having lagged behind Derek as they’d made their way to the Loft.

The girl’s heart skips, her scent spiking, unnerved by the wolf who’s just came crashing into the room. Or maybe she’s just realised how outnumbered she really is.

“Scott... calm yourself,” Peter speaks slowly as if scolding. Derek doesn’t want to take his eyes off Allison, but with the dizzying emotions coming down the bond at rapid speed from his packmate behind him, he can’t help turning his head to check what’s happening. 

Scott is frozen to the spot, eyes changing between werewolf blue and their natural brown. His face is contorting wildly as if he’s barely holding onto control—as if he’s battling internally with his wolf.

It takes a second, but Derek finally recognises his turmoil, having gone through the exact same.

Allison is his true mate. 

_Gods have mercy. _

If Derek could roll his eyes at this entire situation he would, but instead, he pads over to his packmate, leaning against him, sending strength through their bond to ground him.

Derek’s a born wolf, he had that little advantage when he first met Stiles, but Scott doesn’t have that luxury.

While every time Derek has been in Stiles’ vicinity after that first day has proven a strain on his willpower, he still managed due to his wolf blood. Scott will be struggling to temper his primal urges with having had little training on the subject. It’s an issue they really could be doing without.

“Scott, I think it’s best if you wait outside,” Peter suggests, he’s clearly figured it out too. After all, he was the one who recognised it in Derek all those months ago, so it’s no surprise. “Maybe even go home until-”

“No,” Scott interrupts his Alpha, his fingers curling through Derek’s fur as he straightens himself up, puffing out his chest in a show of pure will. “I’m staying. I want to know where Stiles is. I’ll be fine.” From this close, Derek can hear the waver in his voice, and he notices how his eyes don’t linger on the girl, but he’s proud of his pack mate’s resilience. Or stubbornness.

“What’s happening?” Allison asks, turning to Peter for an answer. “Have I done something wrong?”

Peter assesses Scott for a moment before turning his gaze back to Allison, offering her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing to worry about.” Derek feels Scott sag a little against him in relief as if he’d been waiting on his Alpha to command him to leave. “Now, explain exactly why you are here.” 

Allison looks as if she wants to argue, her eyes darting back to Scott and his dishevelled state before sighing in defeat. “Kate and my grandfather have broken the code. As hunters, we are only supposed to do what is necessary to keep the peace. We never hurt innocents but...” She trails off, the scent of deep regret and sadness fills the room, Derek can see her eyes glazing under the apartments industrial lights. “I swear, my father knew nothing of their plans towards your family. I was too young to know anything, but he would have stopped them if he even suspected-” Tears fall freely, wetting her plump cherubic cheeks as her head hangs in shame, cutting her sentence short as her voice trembles. Derek hears Scott whine for his mate, but Derek’s focus stays firmly on the girl, assessing her heartbeat with every word. “I know it means nothing to you, but I am so sorry for everything you’ve lost, the both of you. I can’t even imagine...”

She trails off, wiping at her face before lifting her chin, straightening herself in what appears to be solid determination. “It won’t bring your family back, but my father and I are offering you a truce. To prove the sincerity of our regret for the Hale family, we offer you Kate and Gerard’s lives as recompense.” Peter’s eyes snap to Derek’s, something akin to astonishment flitting across his features but he says nothing. “It’s all we have in our power to give. We can’t revive your lost pack, but we can give you the location of where they are holding Stiles and swear to turn a blind eye as you take your revenge.” 

To say Derek is shocked would be an understatement. Hunters rarely admit to their faults or wrongdoings, but even if they did, it’s practically unheard of for them to seek forgiveness from those they hunt. Especially going as far as offering the concept of an eye for an eye.

_It sounds too good to be true. _

“And why, dear girl, would you and your father offer such a thing?” Peter cuts through Derek’s thoughts, obviously having the same doubts in his mind to the validity of the girl’s proposal. “They are still your family.”

“They are a threat,” she admits with finality. “And they stopped being part of our family the day they unnecessarily murdered yours. We just hadn’t realised it. My father is an honourable man; he would not kill anyone who didn’t pose a danger to others, nor would I.”

Peter allows himself a moment to process her words before turning to Derek. “What say you, nephew? Do you trust them?”

Derek takes in the apprehension in the girl’s features, her hands shaking slightly as her life purely depends on his approval.

Derek doesn’t make her stew too long in her discomfort; he ducks his head in affirmation. He doesn’t trust them fully, not yet, not until they deliver their promises, but it’s the only hope they have of finding Stiles. Plus, unless Allison managed to persuade a witch capable of casting an unscented charm to block out her lies, then everything she’s said has been the truth.

He may be wary, but he has to have faith or Stiles is lost to him.

“Excellent,” Peter claps his hands, making Allison tense. “Well, it seems we accept yours, and your fathers offer.” He steps forward to stand in front of the girl, looming over her to assert his Alpha presence. He’s not about to let her forget who she’s dealing with, even if they’ve agreed to work together. “Where is the man exactly?” 

To her credit, Allison doesn’t cower too much, she still smells terrified, but it’s eased, she’s standing her ground rather courageously. A human in a room full of wolves, Derek would be impressed if he wasn’t almost tearing off his skin with impatience.

“He’s acquiring the firepower,” Allison confirms. “He’ll meet us at the warehouse, where they are keeping Stiles.” Peter’s eyes squint suspiciously, but he doesn’t say anything. “Do you have a car? I can give directions, or if you have a map, I’ll show you the location and meet you there.” 

“I think it’s best if you come with us... as a sort of _insurance _if you will.”

Allison’s shoulders drop in dismay. “You still don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust hunters...” Peter shrugs, eyes darkening with hatred. “The last time one of us did that, we burned for it. Forgive me if I’m a little bit sceptical.”

“I understand,” Allison nods, sincere apology in her eyes before her face hardens in earnest.

She turns her body fully to Peter, dropping down to one knee before him, her hand rising to hover over her steady heart, attention focused solely on him. “Alpha Hale, I swear to deliver what is promised, along with assisting the retrieval of your packmate, or willingly surrender my life into your hands if I fail,” She bows her head in respect, twisting her neck in a subtle act of submission. “You have my word.” 

Peter’s face goes from slack-jawed awe to splitting into a wolfish grin, within seconds. “My my, a traditionalist. How remarkable.”

Derek pushes his body against Scott’s, nudging him as the boy gnarls low in his throat. Derek’s not sure if it’s Allison’s vow of death by his Alphas hand or his uncle’s praise that’s the cause but either way, he’s not all pleased. He stops at Derek’s insistence, but his jealousy and raging desire to claim is cloying in the air. 

Peter fixes Scott with a subtly apologetic look, but he doesn’t outright address his Beta, trusting Derek to handle him. Instead, he focuses back on the anxious girl still kneeling before him. “Very well, I accept your oath, Miss Argent,” Peters hand trails over the side of her neck, not lingering lest he gives Scott a coronary, it’s just enough to show his acceptance as tradition dictates.

Allison smiles, her breath leaving her in a sigh of relief as she moves to stand again. Peter offers his hand as support, steadying her on her feet. “Thank you.” She nods, straightening herself out, a hopeful look on her face as she turns towards Scott and Derek.

Scott’s breath hitches as her eyes catch his, unable to deny the divine attraction between them. Allison is unaware of the wolf’s inner chaos, but even Derek can see the curiosity in her gaze, as well as the pretty blush spreading across her cheeks at Scott’s goofy, adoring smile.

Regardless of her family name, Derek hopes she makes good on her word, if only so Scott gets a chance to feel the intoxication that is having a mate. The boy deserves it, he may be a bit of an imbecile, but he’s got a kind heart, and he cares for Stiles deeply. That in itself earns Derek’s respect. 

The longer their silence stretches on—the tension between them growing so thick it could be cut with a knife—the louder something in the back of Derek’s mind screams that Allison may not be too hard to convince. 

By the amused smirk on Peter’s face, he’s thinking the same. “Well, let’s just hope, dear girl, that this doesn’t end in your death. Wouldn’t you agree, Scott?”

All eyes snap to the Alpha, breaking the trance. Scott's glare is a force to be reckoned with and Allison's face reddens even further, dipping her head in embarrassment. Derek puffs out a breath, unable to roll his eyes to the same effect as if he were human.

Peter, the insufferable asshole, just chuckles mischievously.

_Gods help us all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about the unintentional cliffhanger, but Allisons and her father involvement will be explored more in the next chapter. 
> 
> If you think I need to add any tags or warning, let me know.
> 
> Oh, and just a little side note; in my little fictional world, all Betas have blue eyes, Alphas have red and yellow is for Omegas. I know in the show it's different, but I just prefer the blue eyes and I don't want to get into the whole reasoning for the colours like in the show. Just letting you know in case anyone pick up on my inconsistencies. 
> 
> Thank you all for your support; your kudos ad comments are much appreciated.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, fuck.”
> 
> The breathless words bounce off Derek’s ears, he turns to the source prepared to see Argent reinforcements, his fangs itching in his gums as he expects the second onslaught of fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the penultimate chapter—it's a long one!
> 
> I'm not sure if I like this or not, as I absolutely suck at writing battle scenes. I may go over it again in the future and spice it up a little more, but for now, it's done. I really need to read a thesaurus 'cause I'm struggling to come up with different words for 'snarl' or 'growl'. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Allison does as promised, directing them to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Beacon.

The place appears run down as if it hasn’t seen visitors in years, it’s eerie, falling apart and surrounded by miles of trees. A perfect spot for an ambush.

“There’s my father’s car,” Allison points to the matte black range rover parked close to the door. “He must already be inside.”

“And why would that be?” Peter asks suspiciously.

“I told you, he has the firepower,” Allison turns to the Alpha, unclipping her seatbelt. “Gerard still thinks he’s helping; he doesn’t know about our new alliance.”

“Is that what this is?” Peter parks beside Argent, there’s no point in hiding as the hunters already know they’re coming. “An alliance?”

“I swore an oath, didn’t I?” Allison snaps, opening her door. She jumps out, wrenching forward her seat so Derek and Scott can vacate the vehicle. 

“That you did,” Peter nods, voice a low rumble. “Let’s just see if I was right to trust you.”

Once they’re all out in the open, Peter listens carefully, honing in on his surroundings; ears, eyes and nose working overtime to make sure the coast is clear. “I can’t smell anyone, or hear any heartbeats.”

Derek huffs in agreement; he can’t pick up a sign of anyone in the immediate vicinity apart from them. It’s disheartening, to say the least, he’s starting to believe Allison has led them astray.

“They’ll be in the basement,” the girl comments, her heart steady in honesty. “This place has thick walls, and plenty of rooms to take cover but they’ll be keeping Stiles down below.”

Derek growls, causing his whole body to vibrate.

“There’s only one way in and one way out,” she looks at Peter apologetically, running her fingers over the back of her neck nervously. “I’m sorry I can’t offer any tactical surprise entry.”

“That works to their advantage. The element of surprise has been taken out of the equation, so we have no choice but to abide by their rules,” Peter uncrosses his arms from over his chest, sighing as he has no option but to trust the girl. “I’ll go first, stay behind me.”

Scott and Allison nod, moving behind the Alpha for cover. Derek doesn’t budge, looking up at the man in challenge.

“Derek,” his uncle chides. “Do as I say.” Derek snarls and Peter’s eye’s spark red. “For once in your life, be obedient.”

With one last rumble of disapproval, Derek resigns under the man’s intense glare, keeping to the back of the group as they make their way through the warehouse.

The place smells musty—stale—like century-old dirt and water left to solidify and fester. He can sense a copper tang in the air, not surprised with the Argents known proclivities. He’s just grateful none of it connects to his mate.

Allison wasn’t lying when she said there were rooms aplenty, twists and turns leading to several dead ends and torture chambers everywhere they look. The girl instructs them to take the stairs at the back of the warehouse—the only way down to the cellar.

The dim lights above do nothing to elevate the feelings of uncertainty. It’s classic horror movie scenery, a few of the lamps even flicker off as they tread carefully down the long haunting corridor.

Peter takes in a deep breath as they reach the door to the basement, still no scents or sounds to be heard through the wall.

Derek’s heart is in his throat, chest tightening, the only thing stopping him from panicking is the hope that he’ll finally get his mate back.

Scott swallows, his mouth sounding dry to Derek’s ears. The boy’s hands are shaking, but he too is running on the anticipation of seeing his friend again. 

Peter’s fingers curl around the door handle, not at all astonished at finding it unlocked. He nods to his Betas, even casting a hopeful glance towards Allison before he lets the door swing open. 

“Oh, great,” the Alpha sighs out sarcastically at the sight he’s greeted with as the steel door batters heavily against the concrete.

They filter into the room, keeping their backs positioned firmly to the exit. Derek’s eyes land on the army of hirelings lined up like soldiers across the vast open space, the three Argents stationed at the forefront.

Kate and Gerard are unarmed, but Chris is armed to the teeth. His rifle is an accomplice in his hands, the knives attached to his back a taunt and the copious reams of spare ammo snaking over his shoulder and torso just proof that he means business. A real asset to whoever’s side he’s on.

The scent of wolfsbane is rife, Derek’s snout wrinkles with its potency. Mountain ash is lingering in the air too, no doubt the reason none of them could detect anyone down here.

His hackles raise as he also spots the wooden chair over by the pillar in the middle of the room. Stiles is slouching in the seat with ropes tied around his hands and waist, a burlap sack over his head. He’s moving, so Derek thanks the Gods for that mercy.

“Well, well, you took your time,” Gerard smirks, taking an arrogant step forward, his voice travelling through Derek like a dog whistle. “But I’m glad you’ve finally joined us.”

The geriatric fuck makes a show of eyeing up his prey, before his beady gaze shifts to Allison. She’s keeping her distance behind the Alpha, a knife in her hand that wasn’t there before.

“Well done, niece, you’ve done a good job,” Kate chirps, addressing the girl. She thrusts out her arms to welcome her close, expecting her niece to fling herself into her comfort. “You should be proud, brother, she’s turning into quite the little murderess.”

“Shut it, Kate,” Allison hisses, not moving a single inch from her spot beside Scott.

Derek didn’t expect the words and by the impressed look on Peter's face, neither did he.

Kate’s brow lifts to her hairline, with a scoff she drops her hands back to her sides. “Excuse me?”

Chris points his rifle at his sister, earning him a look of pure disdain. “You’re done, both of you. You’ve broken the code; I won’t allow that to continue.”

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing, Christopher?” Gerard sneers, fists turning white at his sides, clearly not expecting his son and granddaughter to turn on him.

“Stopping you from killing more innocents.”

Kate tilts her head back, a high pitched cackle erupting from her throat, a mocking sound that ricochets off the walls. “You think you can take me on? You’re a fool.” She turns to Derek then, her vicious gaze boring into him. “And you, you’re just as pathetic as you always were. Losing control of your shift ’cause I took your delightful little boy toy.”

Derek snarls, attempting to creep forwards before his Alpha holds out his hand to halt him.

“Oh, we’ve had some fun, haven’t we, Stiles?” She looks over to the boy, her smile turning predatory. “He’s a lot harder to break than I anticipated.”

At that moment, a hunter removes the hood from his mates head, revealing a battered and bruised boy underneath.

Derek sees red, his wrath bubbling up in his gut. The sight of his injured mate overtaking every single ounce of his restraint.

“Oh, and that’s not all,” Kate giggles gleefully, clapping her hands like a kid in a candy store. “We have another present for you.”

A familiar scent hits Derek before the images take over his eyes, his gnarl cutting off as he remembers.

“Cora,” Peter whispers from behind him, his own rage boiling to the surface at the sight of his niece wrapped in a mix of mountain ash and wolfsbane chains. “I’ll fucking kill you for this.” 

“You can try,” Kate smiles slyly.

Derek drops on his front legs, preparing to pounce when her eyes flare golden, stopping him from lashing out. Her features transform, no longer pale and human, but purple and beastly. She sprouts bright white fangs, too many of them to be a wolf. Her claws yellow and curving inwards like that of a cat.

“What the Hell,” Derek hears Chris gasp behind him, frozen on the spot as he stares at his sister or the creature that’s now in her place.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” Kate quips, with a demented look of triumph. “You see... before you killed him, that gorgeous rogue Alpha I sent to finish you off, gave me the bite.” She paces across the floor, relishing in the stunned looks of everyone around her. “It wasn’t planned, and he was pretty much deranged at the time, but I adapted. I won’t lie, it was difficult not having an Alpha, but as you can see I’m not a wolf, I’m a hybrid of sorts, the result of the poison I fed him along with his madness.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” Peter snarls, stepping forward with his claws at the ready.

“Hm, perhaps,” Kate inspects her nails, looking bored. “Or maybe the supernatural has nothing to do with it; maybe I just don’t like Hales.”

“Enough talk,” Gerard screams retreating to the far corner of the warehouse, behind a large group of armed hunters. He’s not even bothering to get his own hands dirty, standing at a safe distance while his men die for his cause. “Kill them all.”

The first round of bullets miss their mark, the wolves’ reflexes too superior for them to make a hit.

Peter lunges at Kate, ripping through her arm. She howls in pain, but her skin knits together quickly, her face twisting in determination as she retaliates.

Derek wants to help him, wants to have the cunt choke on her blood from a wound caused by his own maw. But a few of the Argent mercenaries are advancing; he has to protect his Alpha. 

Allison and Scott sneak behind the brunt of the fight, releasing Cora and Stiles from their bonds. Allison uses a sword to slam open Cora’s chains while Scott undoes the boy’s ropes.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks, helping his friend to his feet.

Stiles wobbles slightly, wincing as pain and exhaustion course through him. But he prevails, grinning sarcastically. “_Peachy_.”

Derek resists the urge to leap across the floor towards him, but he needs to keep going. Chris can’t cope with the hunters on his own, and his mate is strong, stronger than he ever could imagine a human to be. He couldn’t be more proud of him. 

“Here,” Allison wastes no time in shoving a steel baton into Stiles’ hand. “You might need this,” she elaborates at his stunned look, before joining in the fray, grabbing a bow from the weapons trunk along the wall. She moves behind Derek, backing him with her arrows cocked in preparation for shooting.

Stiles splutters, unsure what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Just... stay alive,” Cora commands as she gets swallowed up in a sheath of smoke. Her claws and fangs extended in fury as she charges into the group of unsuspecting hunters advancing on Peter.

Stiles turns to Scott, but the Beta is already beside his Alpha, helping wear down the purple-skinned beast that was once a very human Kate Argent.

Her deadly claws slice through Peter’s chest, but the Alpha is barely fazed, his strength superior to hers, but she appears faster. All the years of hunter training have prepared her for this, she may be weaker and have less experience of being supernatural, but she’s not going down easily. She’s insanity personified, and that alone makes her more dangerous than anyone in the room.

“Fuck it,” Stiles breathes out, twisting the baton in his hands to get a tighter grip as he charges headfirst into the battle.

Derek’s stomach nearly falls out of his ass as he watches Stiles channel all his fear, all his anxieties and all his rage into snapping the limbs of every hunter that gets into his close proximity. His instincts are howling at him to protect his mate, but it seems the teen is doing a stellar job of that on his own.

As if the boy can hear Derek’s inner turmoil, the little shit lifts his head and winks before cracking open some poor fuckers skull.

_My beautiful mate._

Derek would laugh if he could, his chest puffing out in pride. Instead, he just shakes his head fondly, leaping towards one of the lackeys Stiles left with broken legs and crunching his fangs into his throat.

“Come on, _Alpha_,” Kate spits at Peter like the title is a curse. “I expected more from you. You clearly don’t hate me enough.”

Peter’s shirt is a lost cause, hanging off his muscular frame in tatters. Blood is drying at the edges, the scratches having healed almost as soon as Kate swiped but he looks a mess. 

“Oh, trust me, Katie, dear,” Peter slurs through his fangs, chest heaving erratically. “I _loathe_ you.”

Kate laughs maniacally, circling the Alpha. Scott and Stiles are protecting his back, fending off anyone who gets too close.

“You know, it was you I had my eye on,” she leers at him. “To think, if you hadn’t been _that way_ inclined, poor Derek wouldn’t have to beat himself up about getting his entire family killed.”

“_You_ got their family killed, not Derek,” Stiles shouts, clearly unable to hold his tongue. “He’s innocent in all this.”

“Oh, it still speaks. I obviously didn’t torture you enough,” Kate sniggers, avoiding another of Peters attacks with ease. “Hm, maybe he is, but he still hates himself for it and he always will.”

Stiles glares at her, his heartbeat picking up as his face blooms red in rage.

An odd aroma permeates the air, Derek is reminded of the rain after a storm. That metallic scent that dominates over the fresh earthy notes you would expect after a downpour. 

“I am going to enjoy every second of ripping out your throat,” Peter growls, launching forwards with his arms held out at his sides.

“Bring it on,” Kate grins, meeting the man halfway.

Before Peter can make good on his threat, his arm raised for a deathly blow, Stiles swings his bat at the woman’s back, catching her off guard. What’s even more surprising, is the crackling of electricity dancing along the steel edge of his weapon.

He brings the baton down several more times, the hard surface connecting with Kate’s head, giving off a sickening squelch. He curses with every strike, his arms tensing as he grips onto the end of the bat like a lifeline.

He’s lost to anger, his mind gone blank as the only thing he can comprehend is slaying the woman who’s caused so much heartache. “Die, you fucking bitch.”

Once content with the mess he’s made, the boy stands up straight, gasping for breath as his lungs work frantically through his exertion.

It takes a moment, but Stiles finally meets Peters eyes, following the wolf’s entranced gaze to the weapon in his hand, inhaling sharply as he watches a few bolts of lightening fizzle out.

“You’re a spark,” Peter gasps in awe, smiling at Stiles as if he’s just hung the moon.

“A _what_ now?” Stiles pants, his mouth crooking in confusion.

Peter opens his mouth to answer, but Kate groans from her place on the floor, interrupting his train of thought. She’s slumped in a heap, blood gushing from her skull as she convulses, Stiles’ electricity flowing through her.

Both their eyes snap to her, Peter’s flashing Alpha red as he tangles his fingers through her matted hair, tugging harshly.

“That’s what you get for messing with the Hale pack.” He doesn’t give her a chance to linger on his words, his fangs plunging into her throat, snapping her neck like a toothpick, ripping her head clean off her shoulders. The petrified expression on her face stuck forever as if carved in stone.

A stream of red drips from his mouth as he lifts his eyes to the Heavens, tipping his head back to howl triumphantly, garnering the attention of everyone in the room.

Derek caught sight of the entire thing, watching at the corner of his eye as his mate took down the woman who slaughtered his family. His lips curl over his teeth in a mock of a smile, the best he can manage in his animal form. 

Stiles baulks at the gore but doesn’t hide his satisfaction at the woman’s demise. He nods to the Alpha, twirling his bat over his shoulder, grimacing slightly at the smear of blood trickling over his face. “You’re explaining the spark thing later.” He points accusingly before turning on his heel to help his best friend once again.

Gerard’s band of hunters continue to open fire, the man snarling at Kate’s untimely fate at the hand of his enemies. “She was just as weak as you are, Christopher, but at least she didn’t betray me.” Chris, Derek and Cora dodge the bullets with expert ease much to the older man’s frustration. “No matter, you’ll pay for that sin soon enough,” he sneers, spittle flying from his mouth, his face contorting hideously. “You and my_ precious_ granddaughter.”

At that moment, Gerard smirks, snatching a handgun from the closest hunters back pocket, aiming straight for Allison who’s distracted in melee combat at the other side of the room.

“No,” Chris shouts, too far away to physically rip his father’s finger from the trigger. Instead, he aims his own weapon, without a second thought, he shoots him directly in the heart. Any earlier reservations he may have had at killing his own family have been forgotten in favour of saving his daughter. But it’s too late. Gerard’s bullet has already left the barrel with a deafening _boom_. “Allison, move!”

The girl turns towards her father’s voice but freezes on the spot.

All the air in the room seems to evaporate, time slowing down as the bullet slices through the space between Allison and her fallen grandfather.

Derek doesn’t quite catch what happens next; all he sees is a flurry of limbs and Allison hitting the floor. His breath catches in his throat as he notices her state; bruised, no doubt, but otherwise unharmed.

Scott stands in her place, hand cupped against the profusely bleeding gash just below his ribcage. His eyes are blown wide, blinking wildly as he processes what’s just happened.

_He saved her life._

Derek runs towards the Beta, leaving Cora and Chris to deal with the stragglers behind him. Allison’s lying on the floor in shock, staring up at Scott in disbelief.

Derek growls at her, not unkindly, just a noise to startle her into helping him move the boy a safe distance from the combat.

“You stupid fool,” Allison sobs, hands shaking as she assesses the damage, propping him up against the far wall. “You’re lucky that was a regular bullet, you absolute idiot. What were you thinking?”

“Didn’t think, just happened,” Scott shrugs, hissing as he aggravates the wound. It’s healing slowly; as a newly turned wolf, his healing rate isn’t as quick as Derek’s or Peter’s. It will be eventually, once he’s in complete control, but for now, he’s out of the fight. “Don’t want you to get hurt.”

Allison sighs, but Derek can see the corner of her lips twitching upwards. “Thank you,” she whispers softly, leaning in to kiss Scott on the cheek before going back to Cora and her father.

Scott smiles broadly, a goofy grin that looks utterly stupid but also completely adorable. Derek stands over him, protecting his downed pack mate as the last few men are dealt with. 

“Leave the rest alive,” Chris cuts in as Cora goes to claw out one of the hunter’s jugulars, Allison’s bow notched ready to fire. “Knock them unconscious for now; I’ll deal with them all later. If they still don’t want to adhere to the code or pledge their allegiance to me, then I’ll kill them myself.”

Both girls nod, Cora a little more reluctantly, but they work quickly at knocking out the remaining hunters. Leaving them all haphazardly spread out across the floor without care.

Silence falls through the building as the last hireling collapses atop the concrete with a dull _thud_.

Everyone stops where they are, all covered in fountains worth of blood and guts, panting for breath as they all descend from their rush.

Derek scans the room, taking in the sight of death and destruction. He can’t help feel anything less than elated, sparing no regret or sadness for anyone lying dead on the floor—especially Kate.

He catches his mate’s gaze, leaving Scott’s side he pads over towards him. However, before he can get within a few feet, a loud _bang_ sounds from the corner of the room, a searing burn in his shoulder causes him to cry out. He collapses onto the floor in agony.

“Derek!” Stiles calls his name, each syllable ringing between his ears as if in slow motion.

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me, _mongrel_,” Gerard splutters, blood foaming from his mouth as he strains to aim one of his dead lackey’s guns.

One of the only weapons filled with wolfsbane bullets.

With the fight over, the adrenaline has worn off, so the hole now decaying in his flesh is flaring with a crippling intensity, his veins below his skin and fur no doubt swirling black.

Gerard breathes his last breath, finally yielding to his injuries, his mouth hanging open, his eyes fading to grey as he crashes limp and lifeless into a pool of his own fluids. But Derek doesn’t have the mental capacity to reveal in it. 

“Shit,” Peter curses, striding forwards, face pale with dread. “We can’t do anything while he’s still a wolf.” He turns to Cora, appearing as if he’s one second away from pulling out his hair in desperation.

“Wha-what do you mean we can’t do anything?” Stiles flails, his bat dropping to the floor with an echoed rattle. He dives to his knees before Derek, stuttering in his panic as he gauges the severity of his state. “There must be something-”

“Stiles, you’re the only one that can help him change back,” Cora interrupts, frantic. “You’re his anchor.”

“His _what_?”

“She’s right,” Peter agrees, ignoring Stiles’ question entirely. “We won’t be able to burn out the poison to heal him until he’s back to human. You’re his best chance at reversing the shift.”

“But... I don’t know how to do that?” Stiles wails. “I didn’t even know I was a- what did you call it? A _spark_? I have no idea how to use it to help him.”

“This doesn’t require your spark, Stiles,” Peter answers, keeping back to give the boy space but his face displays his desire to kneel beside him. “This is more instinctual. Grounding him enough to resist the pull of the moon. He’s too wrapped up in his own head to revert back to human, distract him somehow.”

“Christ on a bike, is it always riddles with you lot?” Stiles mutters to himself.

Derek feels the boy’s fingers tentatively combing through his fur; he rumbles low in his throat at the contact, a sound close to a purr.

“Hey big guy, we’re gonna need you to change back, okay?” Stiles avoids touching the gaping hole at his shoulder; instead, he runs his hands down Derek’s back as he lays sprawled in a puddle of his own congealing blood. “You can’t heal until you're back to your brooding, handsome self.”

Derek’s snorts, or close to it, everyone else keeps silent watching the scene unfold before them. He kicks out his legs, attempting to reposition himself, trying to stand or at least sit but to no avail. The agony from the wound shoots through his body, causing him to yelp out in pain and collapse back onto the concrete in a heap.

“No, no, don’t move, you’ll just hurt yourself more, you big lump,” Stiles scolds, grabbing hold of his pelt in a desperate bid to keep him from moving again.

Derek just huffs, indignant. The toxin now flowing through his veins is blocking his concentration. He knows he needs to change back, but he just doesn’t know how.

The type of wolfsbane Gerard used in his bullets is the fatal kind; he knows that purely by the colour of his blood, no longer vibrant red but void black.

While all variations of wolfsbane effect wolves in one way or another, it would take a larger dosage of those to kill him. The yellow variety, however, the one now rooting itself in his bloodstream, is deadly in any quantity, even just a drop.

He knows he doesn’t have long, his limbs already surrendering to the effects of the poison. The only hope he has is if he can change back into a human and burn out the infection. But, he just can’t do it.

Soft hands grip his muzzle, lifting his head up towards glazed amber eyes. The boy sniffles, but it does nothing to stop the tears falling down his pale cheeks. “You can’t die on me, Derek. You can’t. I haven’t known you for very long, but I-I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Derek whines, the boy's grip on him tightening at the pitiful sound. “From the moment I met you, I knew that I needed you in my life. I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before, I can’t explain it... and I’m not going to ’cause we don’t have a lot of time and once I start rambling- well, you know how I get.” The boy laughs wetly, a sorrowful sound that makes Derek’s heart clench.

He wants to hear his mate ramble, wants to listen to his ADHD addled mutterings until the end of his days. He doesn’t care what he talks about, doesn’t care if it’s trivial, just as long as that melodic voice is close to his ear, guiding him through the good and the bad.

Derek angles his head forwards to nuzzle against his mate’s face, his tongue lapping up the evidence of sadness. He doesn’t want to leave him, can’t even fathom never seeing his wide doe eyes, his cute little button nose or his sinfully plump lips ever again.

He’s taken for granted just how much he cherishes this one human, how his whole world somehow revolves solely around this ethereal being.

He inhales a deep cloud of his scent, warm cinnamon spice, sweet vanilla sugar and freshly cut grass.

_Home. _

Stiles leans into him, his arms wrapping around his neck, face settling into the thick fur as he holds on for dear life. “I don’t care what you say, but none of this was your fault,” he sobs, his shoulders shaking with his misery. “Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me; I need you to know that.” Derek rests his head on his mate shoulder, letting everything that is his mate overwhelm him. “I love you, Derek Hale, with my whole heart. I love you.”

Derek’s heart stutters, his mind going blank as he processes the boy’s words.

_He loves me._

He’s not sure what happens next, what triggers his pelt into morphing back to tanned skin and burly muscles. His paws extend into hands and feet, his bones bending and cracking a little more smoothly than the original transition.

Stiles startles backwards, eyes wide in equal parts worry and awe. He wipes his face with the back of his hand before reaching forwards hesitantly to cup the side of Derek’s face. His very human face.

Derek is kneeling, hands flat against the cold concrete in front of him, fingers twitching as if to prove it’s not just his imagination.

He did it, his mate brought him back.

He jolts slightly when warms fingers caress his stubbled jaw, hand darting out to stop them from recoiling at his shocked motion.

Looking up from the floor, he meets his mate’s enchanting eyes, a single tear rolling down his own cheek as he submits to the boy’s gentle touch. “I love you, too.”

Stiles’ face lights up, a megawatt grin splitting his face as he leaps at him, circling his arms around his neck once more.

He mutters his apologies when Derek winces at the strain on his shoulder, attempting to pull back but Derek doesn’t let him. He places his hand on the side of his mate’s face, his other arm wrapping around his slim waist to drag him back into his chest. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, or succumb to his wounds, he places his lips over the boys, smiling at his mate’s sweet, contented sigh. He doesn’t want to waste another moment, terrified in case the shift takes over him once more, and he’s cursed to float through the eternity of his afterlife plagued with this one simple regret.

Stiles pushes back against him, his lips a firm pressure. It doesn’t get heated, now isn’t the time for that, it’s just a declaration, a promise—a consummation of their mutual devotion.

Stiles is the first to pull back, but not too far, he keeps their foreheads joined a moment, both of them just breathing in the same air as they bask in the aura of each other.

A persistent cough comes from behind them, startling them out of their trance. “I don’t wish to intrude upon this lovely moment,” Peter comments almost regretfully. “But Derek is still close to death so, if we could get a move on with the healing, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Derek snorts, finally able to roll his eyes at the man.

“Oh shit, of course,” Stiles flails, lifting to his feet, standing to allow Derek some space. He looks towards Peter, brows furrowed in question. “How do we heal him?”

“I can help with that,” Argent steps forwards, a grin that’s a little too ecstatic for Derek’s taste on his face as he brandishes a blowtorch in his left hand and a cracked wolfsbane bullet in his right. He ignites the flames, the tool roaring ominously. “Shall we?”

Derek grits his teeth, scowling at the hunter but he nods his affirmative. Chris kneels down in front of him, wasting no time in crushing the yellow powder into the open wound and sealing it shut with fire.

Derek roars, the sound causing the walls of the warehouse to shake, the concrete rattling beneath him. The others grimace at the noise, a few of them clearly resisting the urge to cover their ears. Scott’s face pales, well, it actually goes a little green, while Peter looks only slightly affected.

“Done,” Chris affirms, retreating to the corner of the warehouse to clear up his weaponry, having already dealt with tying up the unconscious hunters.

Derek allows himself a moment to properly recuperate, the sensation of his skin knitting back together both pleasant and unpleasant in equal measure.

Peter holds out his hand in an offering, pulling him to his feet and steadying him as his legs tremble. The Alpha claps him on the shoulder—the uninjured one, thankfully—saying nothing, but the relieved look on his face and a hint of a wet gleam in his eyes, conveys a thousand words.

Peter moves to the side, allowing Derek to advance on his mate. Stiles’ eyes are wide as saucers, glued to an area that’s not quite Derek’s face. “Wow, you’re naked,” he mutters mostly to himself, but it’s loud enough for all to hear. He shakes his head as if to clear his unsavoury thoughts, blushing adorably as he realizes where exactly he’s staring. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, like at all, but erm-”

Derek raises his eyebrow, smirking smugly while interrupting his mate. “What, you expected me to shift back fully clothed?”

Stiles shrugs. “I didn’t really think about it to be fair.”

“Well, _to be fair_,” Derek’s smirk turns filthy. “You are going to be very intimate with it all at some point anyway.”

The rosy tinge to his mates cheeks darken, and Derek’s just about to capture the boy’s mouth with his own when a voice halts him.

“Gods, you two are disgusting,” Cora scoffs indignantly, but Derek soon sees that her face betrays her complaining. A bright grin splitting her lips as she takes in the sight of her brother.

Derek assesses his sister, having almost forgotten her presence amongst the carnage. She’s no longer the girl of nine he remembers but now a beautiful young woman—the spitting image of their mother.

Before he even knows he’s moving, he has her in his arms, lifting her off the ground as she wraps herself around him. He slides his scruff against her neck, subconsciously scenting her as she does the same.

There’s a lifetime between them, so much lost time they have to recover. But at this moment, with the scent of family blanketed around him, his mind for once doesn’t dwell on the past but rather yearns for the future.

“I missed you,” she whispers as he sets her back onto the ground. “Both of you.” She looks to Peter, holding out her hand to signal him closer.

Peter crushes her into him, smoothing down the hair at the back of her head with his fingers as he relishes in her familiar aroma. Derek can see the tears leaving his uncles eyes as the pack bonds slowly stitch back into place.

Cora rests her head against Peter’s chest, as she looks up at Derek, face apologetic. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come back. I didn’t know; I thought everyone was dead. If I’d known-”

“Shhh, little one,” Peter coos, soothing her rising panic by cupping the back of her neck. “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Cora nods, sniffling against him as she nuzzles closer into the warmth of her uncle.

Derek smiles fondly, a pleasant warmth blooming in his belly as Peter reaches out to scent him too. “I’m proud of you, pup.”

Derek crashes into the man, wrapping his arms around both him and his sister, relaxing into his packs embrace.

After a few moments, they break away from each other, looking around at the macabre scene with ruthless smiles on their faces.

_They’re finally gone. Their revenge is fulfilled. _

A tap to his shoulder makes Derek turn on his heel, Chris passes him a bundle of fabric which at closer inspection he realizes are clothes. From the scent wafting off them, they are the hunters own.

“I keep spares in my car, just in case. They should fit you,” he comments at Derek’s inquisitive expression.

Derek hadn’t even noticed the man leaving the building, but he must have slipped out while everyone was preoccupied. “Thanks,” he offers sincerely. 

The hunter nods, moving back to give him space to change. He wanders over to where his daughter is kneeling before Scott, the Beta still propped up against the wall as his own injury heals. He snakes his arm around the boys back, hauling him to his feet with little effort. Stiles scuttles over to help, ducking under Scott’s other arm to share his weight with the hunter.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

~

Chris and Stiles assist Scott outside, Allison following close behind, face contorted in concern for the wolf. He’s already healing, so Peter isn’t too worried about keeping his Beta by his side, he’ll be right as rain by the time they reach the parking lot.

Cora walks closely beside Stiles, a bond already forming between the two from their brief encounter in captivity. Derek smiles at that, relief and happiness washing over him at his packs easy acceptance of his mate.

He and Peter are the last to exit the warehouse, strolling into the morning sun as if they haven’t spent the best part of the wee hours exacting their vengeance in a bloodthirsty feud.

They both inhale deep, greedy lungful’s of fresh, untainted air, relishing in their victory. 

“Oh, fuck.”

The breathless words bounce off Derek’s ears, he turns to the source prepared to see Argent reinforcements, his fangs itching in his gums as he expects the second onslaught of fighting.

Instead, he’s greeted to the sight of his uncle standing frozen a few steps behind him as if he’s just seen a ghost, staring entranced towards the rest of the group. His eyes wide in shock, mouth gaping a little as his hands tighten into fists at his side. 

Derek takes in his tense posture, his erratic heartbeat and the sweat accumulating on his brow. He’s about to ask the man what ails him, but following his uncles penetrating gaze directly, he notices exactly where his eyes are focused upon. Or rather, _whom_.

“Holy shit,” Derek exclaims, loud and unrestrained, as realization dawns on him. “Ho-ly shit. Christopher fucking Argent.” He throws his head back to bark out a laugh, not even bothering to hold back his amusement. “Well, I believe congratulations are in order, uncle. You know, finding your true mate is an honour that few wolves manage in their-”

“Yes, thank you, Derek,” Peter snaps, gritting his teeth, interrupting Derek’s exact quotation of his own words several months ago.

Oh, Derek is going to have fun with this one. Finally, he can give his uncle a taste of his own medicine.

“Wow, and here I thought having the _Sheriff’s_ son as a mate was some sort of cruel joke.” Derek is genuinely struggling to keep a straight face, shoulders shaking with his barely contained mirth. “There’s no denying Mother Moon has a cracking sense of humour.” 

His mind goes back to how relentlessly Peter mocked him the day he found out Stiles was his true mate. That alone is fuelling his fire, but it also helps that Peter looks as if he’s one teasing comment away from throwing an Alpha tantrum. And Gods, does Derek just want to push him into that territory. 

“How did you not realize sooner?” Derek questions, realizing belatedly that unlike his own true mate revelation having been a ‘_love_ _at first sight’_ thing, Peter had barely even acknowledged Chris in the warehouse. “I mean you were literally right beside each other for the entire fight. Didn’t you get an inkling?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Derek,” Peter scoffs indignantly, raising his arms to the skies. “Maybe it was the pungent scent of wolfsbane clogging up my senses. Or perhaps the fact I was a little preoccupied with slaying our enemies and protecting our pack to really concentrate on anything else.” 

Derek can’t stop the smile tugging his lips at Peter’s antics. He’s acting like a child. The words should make him whine in apology, but he can tell that Peter is more annoyed at his own delayed responses than he is about the battle, so he doesn’t feel guilty for his amusement. His uncle certainly wouldn’t. 

“Well, if you want my advice, I say, you should just talk to him,” Derek shrugs, failing miserably at nonchalance with the way he’s holding his breath to stave off his chuckles.

Peter turns his head comically slow, the edge of his eyes bleeding red as he glares at Derek and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. 

Derek bursts into an uncharacteristic fit of giggles, hysterical tears running down his cheek, his belly aching with the intensity of his delight. “Karma’s a bitch, right uncle?”

Peter roars at him. Fangs dropping, claws extending, pupils a dangerous mix of black and scarlet. There’s no denying he’s a terrifyingly dangerous Alpha werewolf, but Derek is used to his uncle's hissy fits. 

Had Derek not been anticipating the reaction—or more so goading for it—he’d have high-tailed it out of there, slinging his mate over his shoulder and darting towards safety. Had he been a newly turned Beta like Scott, instead of a blood relative who is intimate with his uncle’s mood swings, he’d have at the very least knelt in the dirt and offered his submission. But instead, he just folds his arms across his chest, a smug grin pulling at his lips, one to rival any of Peter’s self-satisfied looks. 

The Alpha hasn’t actually commanded anything, so he’s able to ignore the pull on his instincts even as he notices Scott and Cora’s knees subconsciously twitching from the corner of his eye. 

He waits for Peter to finish, an eyebrow raised as he watches the man revoke his shift. He straightens himself out, putting on a mask of indifference as if nothing is amiss.

All eyes are on Peter, no-one moving an inch until the dust from his outburst has fully settled.

Derek clocks Chris’ fingers twitching against the frame of his gun but with one cautionary look shot his way, the hunter tilts his head in apology, moving his hand away from the weapon. It will be like second nature to the hunter, and after all, he’s proved where his loyalties lie, so Derek’s not mad at his immediate reaction to an Alpha wolfing out. 

“My apologies, I seem to have forgotten myself for a moment,” Peter addresses them all, face impassive as he wipes over the remnants of his destroyed shirt to straighten the imaginary creases. “Christopher, may I have a word?” 

The hunter nods, moving towards the empty space Peter is signalling for them to talk in private. Though, the conversation isn’t ever going to be a secret for long with werewolves around. To be honest, even the humans will no doubt be able to hear the details of the conversation, considering the lack of space. 

Derek wants to laugh at how quiet everyone has gone; he’s confident he could hear a pin drop. Allison and Scott pretend to talk amongst themselves but are clearly eavesdropping. Cora is lingering on the side-lines feigning boredom, but he can see the slight tilt in her head, angling her ear towards the site of juicy gossip. Derek can’t really criticize them for it; he’s guilty of the same sin. 

“What the ever-loving fuck was that all about?” Stiles whispers into his ear none too quietly. Derek hadn’t noticed the boy moving beside him, his attention too engrossed on his Alpha and the hunter.

Derek stretches out his arm, pulling his mate close to his chest, holding him tight. He nuzzles at the boys hair, relishing in the contentment radiating from him. “Just watch.” 

“Are you alright?” Chris asks, and Derek can see the pink blushing tinge crawling up his uncle’s neck towards his ears at the genuine concern. 

Peter clears his throat. “Absolutely fine. I just wanted to, erm...” he trails off, his mouth opening and closing as his words stick in his throat. 

Dear Gods, his Alpha is stuttering like a nervous teenager. Derek never thought he’d see the day that his uncle is rendered speechless.

The hunter crosses his arms over his chest, waiting patiently for Peter to finish his sentence. His muscles bulge through his shirt, and Derek notices Peter’s eyes lingering on the movement. 

The Alpha swallows thickly before returning his gaze to Chris’ face. “I wanted to thank you... for everything.” 

Chris’ mouth curves upwards in a grin. “It was the honourable thing to do.”

“Yes, well, I appreciate it.” Peter nods, eyes flickering between the floor and the space behind Chris as the hunters gaze bores into him. 

Derek wants to say he’s surprised at Peters submissive actions, but he’s really not. He may be the Alpha, but right now he’s as nervous as a schoolboy asking his crush to prom. 

After studying Peter for a moment, Chris’ smile turns hungry. He leans in, the inch or two of height he has on Peter allows him to tactfully crowd close to him. His hand comes up to rest gently atop his bicep—Peter visibly shivering at the skin on skin contact—as he whispers into his ear words only Peter and his Betas will be able to hear. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Derek and Scott look at each other, eyebrows rising to their hairlines. Cora smirks as if she’d somehow predicted this outcome. Allison and Stiles are none the wiser, well, Stiles has a view of Argent getting into Peters personal space, but without hearing the words, it could be perceived as a threatening stance.

That is, until Peter whines. A high pitched sound that seems to erupt from the pit of his stomach—a sound loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Did... did your uncle just _whine_?” Stiles stutters, eyes wide in shock. 

Derek’s lids close tight, his face tilted towards the Heavens as he prays to Mother Moon to relieve him from the feeling of second-hand embarrassment. “Yep.”

He opens his eyes, noticing that Allison has turned towards her father, her jaw almost hitting the floor at the sight of him practically caressing Peter’s arm. It only widens impossibly further when the man moves his hand upwards, trailing his fingers across the Alphas exposed throat. 

Derek can’t help his sharp intake of breath, cringing internally at the bold gesture. As a hunter, Chris will know better than anyone that a wolf’s neck is a no touchy zone—unless they trust you explicitly.

Derek feels a surprising tinge of admiration. Man’s got balls; he’ll give him that. 

To his utter amazement, Peter doesn’t rip the hunters head off. Instead, he twists his neck even further, giving the man more access—submitting to him. 

_Gods above, he’s already smitten._

Chris' smirk widens, knowing full well the significance of what’s just happened. Derek can smell the arousal between them, mingling in the air like a poignant perfume.

He resists the urge to gag; his uncle has no doubt put up with worse over the last few months from him so he can afford him the same courtesy.

_It’s still gross, though. _

Chris takes a step back, breaking the sexual tension by putting distance between them. He winks at Peter, smiling in promise. “I’ll see you around, Alpha Hale.”

The man saunters away, flinging his arm around his still gobsmacked daughter to usher her towards his range rover. He nods his head towards Derek in a wordless goodbye and gives Scott a sharp look that’s equal parts menacing and scrutinizing.

Scott is wisely terrified, but Derek is sure he’ll be able to worm his way into the hunter’s good graces in time. He did jump in front of a bullet meant for his daughter, after all.

Peter looks lost, rocking on the balls of his feet as if heavily debating whether to follow the man with every intention of mounting him in the parking lot or to fight against his instincts and let his mate leave un-debauched.

Thankfully for the constitutions of all here present, he chooses the latter. 

“Why does Peter look like he’s fighting between ripping Mr Argent apart and fucking him into the ground?”

Derek chuckles at his mate’s stellar perception skills—not that he needed more evidence that Stiles is smart as all Hell. He doesn’t pull away from their position as he answers. He’s too much enjoying the feel of the boy huddled against his chest, arms a grounding constriction around his waist. “In all your research, did you ever come across the term... true mates?”

Stiles stills against him, taking a moment before speaking. “Yes... yes I did.”

“Well,” Derek signals one of his hands towards his uncle, who is now pacing with a petulant pout across his face. “That’s it right there.”

“Oh,” Stiles exclaims in understanding. “You mean Peter feels for Mr Agent what Scott feels for Allison?”

“Exactly.”

Derek can hear the gears working inside his mate’s head, along with the nervous sound of him worrying his bottom lip. “Like what you feel for me?”

It’s Derek’s turn to freeze, gulping audibly he steels his expression, pulling back from his mate’s tight embrace to assess him. “How long have you known?”

Stiles smiles, warm and adoring. “Since the moment you turned back into a man after I told you I loved you. Something Peter said yesterday stuck in my mind, and it only made sense at that moment.”

Derek groans, brow furrowing as he prepares for the worst. “What did he say?”

“Nothing bad,” Stiles assures him quickly. “Literally only that we have a lot to talk about. This was after spending several hours listening to him lecture Scott on how not to wolf out and claim his true mate in the streets. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. He knew you weren’t going to mention it, so he was prompting me to figure it out myself.”

Derek releases an exhale of breath, shaking his head in faux exasperation. His lip-curling in fond amusement. “He’s such an ass.”

“Yep,” Stiles looks over at the Alpha, snorting. “But I kinda like him.”

Derek’s nods in agreement, hauling his mate close once again, leaving a lingering kiss atop his head. “Yeah, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it seems a bit rushed in the middle, but fighting isn't my strong suit. I'll get there someday, however, today is not that day. 
> 
> Let's also pretend that all the gore gets magically cleared up in the background, or Argent returns with a maid service. 
> 
> If I'm missing any tags or warnings, let me know.
> 
> One more chapter to go, guys. Thank you for reading!


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last year has gone by in a flash; it seems like yesterday that Derek transformed into a full wolf, charging into that dank warehouse to revel in his enemies crumbling around him.
> 
> A whole year since the day Stiles first told him he loved him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! 
> 
> Sorry, it took so long, but I'm still not confident with writing smut so bear with me. 
> 
> I hope this last chapter is a good ending for you guys; it's mostly just porn with a teeny bit of plot and fluffiness. If sex scenes bother you, don't read after the first squiggly line. It does get a bit rough, but both parties are one hundred per cent into it, and Stiles has read up all there is to know about werewolf mating and knows what that entails. 
> 
> The time frame is like a year (and a few weeks) after the last chapter, just to be precise. It also jumps a bit between past and present tense in the second half, so if that's not your thing, turn back now.
> 
> As always, there will be errors and mistakes.
> 
> Take care, and stay safe!

The last year has gone by in a flash; it seems like yesterday that Derek transformed into a full wolf, charging into that dank warehouse to revel in his enemies crumbling around him.

A whole year since the day Stiles first told him he loved him. 

The first thing to happen after that eventful evening was Derek explaining—explicitly—the ins and outs of true mate’s. With the help of Peter and some especially old tomes from their vault, Stiles learned quickly what it means for a wolf to meet their true mates and what happens in the event of him agreeing to the claiming bite.

Derek had told him to take his time, to be really sure he knew what he was getting into before making any rash decisions. The boy had obeyed—colour him surprised—and allowed himself a few months of calling Derek his ‘_boyfriend’_—only around the pack though, as the civilised world still frowned upon twenty-odd-year-olds dating minors—before giving his answer.

To no one’s surprise, apart from maybe the self-conscious part of Derek’s brain, that answer was a resounding ‘_yes’_. Derek’s knees had almost collapsed under him, his wolf ecstatic at his mate’s enthusiastic affirmation.

He’s not too proud to admit that he’d held the boy tightly in his arms that night, afraid to let go in case he changed his mind. Even more afraid to fall asleep in case he woke up and found it to have all been a dream. 

Not long after, Stiles also accepted the role of the Hale pack emissary—his uncle was positively giddy at that. He’d never met a spark in his lifetime, as they are rare beings according to the books in their library. He was honoured with the chance to have one working as his emissary, to have one as part of his pack.

Apparently, Deaton (the sneaky bastard) had sensed Stiles’ spark from the moment he walked into the clinic the day Scott had discovered Allison. According to the druid, the bond between Stiles and Derek is so strong that it had awoken Stiles’ powers the moment they first touched. He isn’t quite sure where they manifested from, but it’s hereditary.

Stiles was confident that his father would’ve mentioned if he or his mother were a part of the supernatural community, but Deaton assured him that it could’ve been passed down from an ancestor further back than his parents.

Often the power lays dormant, the potential flowing through the blood of every family member for centuries, never coming awake until given the right motivation. It can even skip a few generations before landing on someone it deems worthy of the gift, but that person may not have the means or knowledge to rouse the spark, so it stays quiet until the next host. Stiles could be the first in his family to have activated the power or one of many, Deaton couldn’t say but either way, the boy has the ability, he just has to learn how to wield it. 

A spark isn’t like a witch or a magic-user. While they _can_ mix various offensive and defensive potions and draw up protective runes, they can’t cast spells or conjure up hexes. They can, however, with training, control subtle aspects of the elements—_very_ subtle aspects.

Most of the power of a spark is formed from deep-rooted belief; it is said that if they trust in something strongly enough, they can make it happen. Combining that with certain intense emotions can cause fire, water, earth and wind to bend to their whims, hence why Stiles was able to harvest lightning as if pulled out from the stormy skies and use it against Kate. His anger had fuelled the action, controlled it—grounded it.

While he will never be able to outright mould the elements with his fingertips, shoot fireballs from his hands or make the earth crack and shatter beneath him, he can seek help or guidance from them when he needs it most. For example—but not limited too—if he believes that his garden will sprout sunflowers in the middle of winter his spark will give him just enough sunshine and rain to allow that belief to become a reality.

Stiles knew he couldn’t defeat Kate with an ordinary bat, but with rage bubbling through his veins he believed he could with help, so his spark sent down a little extra kick. It didn’t outright smite her down with a bolt of lightning; it just gave Stiles the heightened tools to do the job himself.

The power is seen as a useful add-on, little more than an advantage above being human. It’s not world-dominating or invincible sorcerer type stuff—much to Stiles’ frustrations and maybe Peters. 

The boy has been training with the vet and the Alpha weekly, bouncing between the two like a ping-pong ball. With Peter, he studies all things pack and supernatural related, even on the odd occasion—despite what it does to Derek’s heartrate—the Alpha teaches him how to defend himself against an attack using an assorted array of weapons. Deaton supplies the knowledge for him to keep the pack safe, using potions and runes while also giving him the means and space to develop his spark.

_The poor boy doesn’t catch a break. _

In other news, Scott is well on his way to being in complete control of his shift. It didn’t take Peter or Derek as long as they thought, the wolf is incredibly strong-willed. It may have something to do with him dating Allison—officially, not in secret—as with being his true mate the girl automatically became his anchor, much like Stiles is to Derek. Or it could possibly be his desire to impress the girl’s father, either way; he’s come on in leaps and bounds.

Chris has accepted his daughter dating a werewolf, _reluctantly_ but it still counts as a win. While he wasn’t overly keen on the idea—years of prejudice having been drummed into him regarding the species not helping the issue—he eventually relented. He knows teenagers will do what they want regardless of their parents’ wishes, so he may as well give his approval instead of spending pointless amounts of time separating them only for Allison to grow resentful.

Scott says the man thanked him for saving his daughters life, even commended him on the bravery of the action but threatened grievous bodily harm if he ever did so much as break her heart. Derek hazards a guess that the boy is more terrified of the hunter than he is of any supernatural creature, and rightly so, the man’s a force to be reckoned with.

On the subject of Christopher Argent, Peter refused to cough up any ounce of information regarding his own relationship with the hunter. But, Derek’s anything but naïve, he found out pretty early on that his uncle was sneaking out to meet the man almost every other night. He also knows his uncle wouldn’t just give up, so even if he hadn’t caught his Alpha’s occasional walk of shame back to the Loft after midnight, he knows Peter better than just to let it be.

However, Derek’s thorough enjoyment in riling the man up with his relentless teasing came to an abrupt halt a few weeks ago.

Peter always came home in the late evenings enveloped in the distinct tang of metal and gun oil, the dizzying reek of it masking the smell of the less questionable _evidence _of his nightly excursions. The unmistakable scent often wafted strongly from places that Derek knows they don’t belong, and it, unfortunately, didn’t take him long to conclude the matter.

The first time he’d noticed Peters lips bruised and glistening with oily slick and that aroma clinging to his breath, he’d prayed for the ground to swallow him up. Realising his uncle has a gun kink really was not on his list of things he wanted his brain to figure out. Nor would he ever stop wishing he was a little less perceptive at times. It probably suited Peter to have him notice as that alone put an end to the teasing—not like the man was ever going to kiss and tell, he’s a hypocrite like that.

Peter had just laughed at Derek’s disgusted reaction, adding a smug, _‘that’s what you get for prying into other people’s business.’ _

Had Derek the function to retort, he’d have reminded his uncle of all the times he’d stuck _his_ nose into his relations with Stiles, but he’d been struck dumb and has been unable to look at his uncle in the same light for weeks. 

On a more positive note, Cora has firmly planted her spot in the pack. It took her a while to get used to it, having spent so long without pack bonds; it took its toll on her mental health. But, with her Alphas copious streams of patience and Derek’s understanding nature, she’s now fully involved with pack life.

She’s spent the last twelve months getting to know her family all over again, along with the new additions. She explained what she’d been through, about how the death of the pack she’d lived with for six years had nearly broken her, but together they all gradually helped put her back piece by piece. She’ll never get over that, none of them will ever get over the trauma they’ve been through in their lives, but they are stronger for it, they can move on and grow from it.

Cora and Stiles have developed a bond to rival any blood-related siblings. They are thick as thieves, both devilishly cunning, wickedly intelligent and just downright mischievous—a bit like Peter, actually.

The three of them seem to have formed a pact, and Derek is confident they have a group chat between them that is purely used for plotting on how best to piss him off.

He may grumble and grouch as is customary to his character, but he loves it really. He can’t help the warm fuzzy feelings he gets in his belly when his pack is doing regular familial things. Even if that involves pranking him by switching all his shaving foam with whipped cream, or infusing his toothpaste with wasabi, it reminds him of how life was before the disaster, and he couldn’t be happier.

The most monumental thing to happen though—according to his mate—is that fact that Stiles is now _eighteen_. 

Surprisingly though to Derek, Stiles didn’t insist on rushing into the sex as soon as he was that one year older. Yes, they did progress to blowjobs and fingering as soon as Stiles’ birthday hit, both so ready for something, _anything_ after that night Derek snuck through Stiles’ window a year ago, pushed him to the wall and made him come. They needed to get it out of their systems, needed to touch each other and learn each other’s bodies any way they could, but they’ve not gone any further than that.

_Yet._

They’d stuck to Derek’s wish and stayed relatively chaste while the boy was still seventeen. Sure, they made out, _a lot_, maybe even shared a few dirty texts as wank inspiration for one another. There may have also been one occasion involving a _very_ pornographic video that Derek has committed to memory, but apart from that, they’ve practically been nuns.

It’s been difficult, especially when Derek can smell arousal on the boy at pretty much every waking moment. But they’ve had other things preoccupying their minds; pack things, family things, basically just welcome distractions to take the edge off their sexual frustrations.

Stiles is as horny as a virginal teenage boy is expected to be, and to be honest, Derek’s not much better, but they’ve restrained themselves. The boy had expressed how he wanted to jump Derek’s bones as soon as possible, but he wanted Derek to feel ready too. It’s a massive step for them both and while Derek’s wolf wants to pound his mate—this beautiful, intelligent boy who’s accepted to mate with him for life—into the mattress, he still wants it to be right. He wants it to be _perfect_.

He blames Laura for that; her romantic heart must have rubbed off on him more than he realised—not that he minds, but he’ll never say it out loud. 

Derek has spent the last year courting Stiles as his instincts dictate, showering him with gifts, building forts in the Lofts attic so they can watch movies, having picnics in the woods among other things that Laura would no doubt squeal with delight at. 

Stiles is low maintenance; he’d pick laying under the stars talking about their dreams over dinner in an expensive restaurant. While Derek plans on utterly spoiling him with all that now they can flaunt their relationship in public—he wants to show the boy off as his, he blames his wolf for that bout of possessiveness—it’s nice to know that his mate enjoys the simpler things, much like Derek does.

Stiles introduced Derek to his father a few days after his birthday. It was important to him, something that he wanted to do before Derek claimed him—his dad's approval matters most. They’d kept it hush until he was eighteen, which wasn’t as tricky as they had anticipated, but Stiles didn’t want to have to lie to his father anymore, especially when Derek was going to be a permeant fixture in the rest of his life.

It’s safe to say that Derek was shitting bricks the night Stiles invited him around to the Sherriff’s house for dinner, his legs shaking with the urge to impress the man. He half expected Noah to be sitting at the table cleaning his shotgun, but instead, he was welcomed into his home with a fatherly clap to the shoulder and a warm smile.

Stiles had winked at him, smirking at Derek’s stunned look. The boy had warned him that Stilinski’s were as tactile as any wolf, hence why the boy took to being a part of the pack like a duck takes to water, but Derek still didn’t quite expect it as soon as he walked through the door.

After a much more casual, laid back evening than Derek imagined, the Sherriff made known his approval. Derek somehow hadn’t cocked it up, hadn’t brought up anything too incriminating or made an absolute tit of himself as he usually does—Peter would have been proud. However, he did still receive the shovel talk, as is customary. Derek didn’t expect any less and only slightly squirmed when Noah mentioned how he had the resources for hiding a body.

The only part that got Derek’s heart climbing towards his throat was the Sherriff’s blasé comment about knowing better than Stiles having magicked a boyfriend out of thin as soon as that clock hit midnight on his birthday. Especially seeing how they already know so much about each other, but seeing how happy his son is, made him willing to ignore that little glitch in the timeframe. 

They decided beforehand to give it a while before mentioning anything regarding the supernatural—at least until after the claiming. Derek has never been more grateful; he’s not sure his heart could have coped with that much stress in one evening.

But he’s grateful it all worked out and seeing his mates face light up with pride at Derek’s effort to prove himself a deserving mate was worth everything. 

~

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, baby? You know I’ll wait as long as you need,” Derek whispers into the skin of Stiles’ exposed collarbone. 

They are standing in the middle of Stiles’ bedroom, having just arrived home from their first date in public.

After gaining the Sherriff’s approval, Derek expressed his burning desire to take the boy out, to show him off. Stiles had laughed, calling him a _‘possessive wolf’_ but agreed with bright, starry eyes—he can tease all he wants, but Derek knows he’s a sucker for romance _and_ his wolf’s possessive traits. 

Halfway through dessert, Stiles—while talking animatedly—looked up at Derek, none the wiser to the drip of vanilla ice cream clinging to his lip. It should have been completely innocent, but it drove Derek wild, much to his mortification, his fangs subconsciously dropped with a subvocal growl rumbling in his chest.

It was only Stiles’ dirty smirk and mischievous giggle that snapped him out of it, shaking his head to clear his thoughts before turning to make sure no-one saw.

The little shit just wiped the cream from his plush bottom lip, popping the finger into his mouth to suck clean. Derek had to palm himself through his dress pants to stave off the ache, his body simmering with desire as the boy moaned around the digit. 

Stiles found out early on that Derek had an obsession with his mouth and has ever since enjoyed milking the little nugget of information for all it’s worth.

_‘Wanna get out of here, big bad?’_ Stiles had mumbled, voice low and dragging over every syllable like velvet. _‘I think it’s time to stake your claim, don’t ya agree?’_

Derek has never in his whole life asked for the check quicker. The waitress almost collapsed to the floor when she saw Derek’s tip, a couple of hundred bucks no doubt as he took no care in what he paid, opening his wallet and throwing all the bills he had in there on the table in his rush to exit the restaurant.

Stiles had laughed the whole time; that melodic, happy sound that just made Derek’s inside heat up even more. He felt like a teenager again, and he can’t help think that only Stiles could ever make him feel that way, like a bumbling idiot, but he can’t bring himself to care. His mate loves him, that’s all that matters.

They’d made it home—much to Stiles’ surprise and dismay—without Derek stopping on the highway to ravage his mate in the backseat.

No, he wants it to be special, but he still couldn’t help reaching over to indulge himself in a few touches as he drove. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his supernatural senses acting as autopilot as his fingers curled around the bulge in the boy’s jeans.

Soft little moans filled the Camaro, Stiles groaning out a litany of sentences that made Derek nearly cave,_ ‘I can’t wait to have you inside me, Der, I can’t wait to have your cock filling me up’._

His mate might be a virgin, but he certainly has a filthy mouth and isn’t ashamed to flaunt it—it’s more than once drove Derek to absolute distraction.

Derek wanted to get on his knees and praise the Gods when he pulled up to the Stilinski residence to find they’d be alone for the night. He didn’t plan on leaving the boys bed until they were both thoroughly sated, and knowing werewolf stamina, that could be all night. 

Stiles made sure everything was locked, doors and windows sealed, all the while Derek draped himself over his back, nosing and licking up his neck and face. He’d sighed, but Derek knew it was all for show as he’d pouted when Derek lifted his lips away for long enough to breathe.

He could also smell the boy’s contentedness, mixed with his honey spiced lust—an aroma Derek wants to wrap around him and never escape.

That’s how they ended up where they are now, still fully clothed—minus the jackets and shoes—devouring each other’s mouths, tasting one another like men starved.

As soon as they stepped foot through the threshold of Stiles’ bedroom, they had pounced on one another, Derek kissing the boy as if it was his first and his last, plundering his mouth with his tongue until they were both panting and breathless; until the sweet mewls coming from the boy grew more insistent, more impatient.

Derek had just laughed, huffing out a breath as he peppered chaste pecks along the boy’s jaw, his wolf rumbling in approval as his mate tilted his head back in submission to his actions. He latched onto the skin of his throat, alternating between bruising nips and soft, gentle kisses before voicing his questions.

He has to be sure. 

“I will only do this if you’re completely ready, ’cause once I start, my wolf won’t want to stop.” He leaves another lingering kiss to the boy’s jaw. “If you tell me no, I’ll be able to tear myself away, but you’ll need to be clearer, once I’m inside you, my mind will be a little hazy.”

Stiles cups the side of his face, bringing Derek’s gaze to his. “I know, Der, I’ve read every book in Peter’s library about werewolf mating, and I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. I want you; I want all of you. I want to be yours.” The boy smiles, genuine and adoring. 

Derek finds himself smiling back, relishing in the little tick in the boy’s heartbeat at the action. “And I yours.” 

“Come on then, big guy,” Stiles pulls him closer, his fingers curling into the waistband of his dress pants. “Show me what you’ve got,” he deepens his voice, challenging, his pupils filling out to black. 

The cloying scent of their combined arousal is driving Derek towards delirium, getting headier the closer the boy gets to revealing him, his fingers sliding down his fly inch by frustrating inch. 

It’s like the boy can sense Derek’s inner struggles and delights in tormenting him. His movements are slow, his expression one of feigned innocence as his wide doe eyes peek up at him through his lush lashes. Derek has to hold back a whimper, biting his tongue as his mates hand grasps him through the material of his briefs, his cock twitching against the boy’s palm as he gives a few languid strokes. 

Derek hadn’t realised he closed his eyes until a dull _thud_ has them snapping open. He instantly regrets it as his gaze falls upon the maddening sight of his mate on his knees. A groan leaves him without permission, and the boy has the gall to chuckle at his reaction.

He doesn’t get much of a chance to calm his heart rate before his mate is mouthing at the head of his cock. The fabric still a barrier but not doing much to dull the wet heat against his sensitive skin.

Derek’s hand rests on the back of Stiles’ head, not pushing, just a presence, more for his sake than the boy’s as his knees threaten to collapse from under him as Stiles bites the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down to bare his pulsing length. 

The boy’s groan of appreciation makes him preen; his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips before leaning in to take him into his mouth. Derek moans, he can’t help it, the sight, the feel, the smell is just too much. His mate’s mouth is like sin, wrapping around him obscenely as he works at taking him further into his throat. 

Derek moves his hand from the boy’s hair, sliding his thumb over his slick bottom lip as it stretches to its limits. He trails his fingers along the boy’s throat, barely holding back a low growl as the flesh bulges on every thrust of the boys head.

Drool forms at the corner of Stiles’ lips, slicking the way as he slides from tip to base with barely any struggle. Stiles’ lack of gag reflex is a thing to be marvelled at, something Derek learned for the first time a few weeks ago, something he plans on taking full advantage of—at a later date.

“Stiles, you’re going to have to stop if you want me to fuck you,” Derek comments, hissing as the cold air of the room hits his burning skin when the boy pulls back. Giving one last hard suck to the tip, Stiles lets Derek’s cock spring from his mouth, giggling as it slaps against his clothed stomach.

Derek glares at him, but there’s a fond curve to his lips. He holds the side of the boy’s face, purring when he leans into the touch; he pulls a little, wordlessly urging him to stand.

His mate obeys, kissing Derek softly on the side of the mouth as he rises to full height. “Go on then, wolfie,” Stiles says on a breath. “Fuck me.” 

Derek’s eyes light up like sparkling sapphires, both hands coming out to—none too gently—push the boy onto the bed.

Stiles hits the mattress with a startled gasp, but a cloud of sugary sweet lust wafts from him at Derek’s rough treatment. 

Derek takes off his own shirt, not bothering with undoing the buttons, a few of them popping onto the carpet on the other side of the room as he rips it over his head. His pants and briefs follow, stepping out of them with supernatural grace before disposing of them somewhere unimportant. 

Stiles’ heartbeat picks up pace as he shamelessly ogles Derek’s naked body. Eyes roaming from his chest to his cock, to his thighs then back up again. His mouth gapes a little; his pupils alight with desire. “You look like you descended from Olympus, God damn,” Stiles murmurs, the words almost silent in his distraction. “I’m so lucky.”

Derek grins as he saunters over to stand directly in front of his mate. His finger taps the underside of his chin, tilting the boys head upwards. “I’m the lucky one, baby.” 

Stiles smiles as if Derek has just put to rest all his insecure thoughts, all his self-conscious ideals with that one simple phrase. He bends forward to place a delicate kiss to his mate’s lips, planning in his head all the ways he can prove to the boy that he’s beautiful, that he’s Derek’s whole world. 

“You are wearing entirely too many clothes; I need to see you.” Derek’s touch roams under the boy’s shirt, rucking up the bottom to finally place his fingers against warm, smooth skin. 

Stiles’ muscles tense under his palms, nervousness creeping into his scent. Derek stops his progress, looking into the boy’s eyes in a wordless ask for permission. 

After a moment, Stiles takes a breath and gives Derek a nod to continue. Only then does he lift the boy’s shirt up and off, discarding it into the heap behind him. 

“Beautiful,” he comments as he’s rewarded with soft, mole dotted skin. Broad shoulders, lean muscle and a delightful tuft of hair climbing from navel to below his jeans. “You’re absolutely stunning, Stiles.” 

Stiles blushes at the praise, his shoulders dropping as he exhales, the tension leaving him, along with his anxieties at Derek’s sincerity. 

The other times they’ve been intimate, Stiles often kept his t-shirt on, or they were so hungry for one another that they didn’t even manage to get out of their clothes before spilling onto each other’s hands or in each other’s mouths. There was once Stiles changed in front of him but kept his back turned, it seemed almost out of habit, his tongue still wagging with whatever gossip he had to tell but his body instinctively turning away from the other person in the room. Derek never pried, never pushed, just tried his best to make Stiles feel as beautiful as Derek sees him through his eyes. 

He now has his whole life to prove it to him, and he can’t wait.

“Take off your jeans for me, baby, and lie back on the bed.” Derek keeps his voice low, talking slowly, so Stiles knows it’s a request and not an order. 

Stiles scrambles enthusiastically to rid himself of his pants—movements a lot less graceful than Derek’s, but he can’t help finding it endearing—before shimmying to the middle of the bed.

Derek pads over to the bedside cabinet, knowing he’ll find a half-empty bottle of clear gel waiting there. He grabs it, flinging the container beside Stiles before crawling up the teen’s body, eliciting a groan at his predatory movements. 

Derek blankets his body over Stiles’, dropping down until skin meets skin but keeping most of his weight on his elbows. Stiles lets out a soft gasp as their hips meet, his cock hard and leaking as he ruts up to gain some much-needed friction to relieve his ache. 

“I’m going to open you up with my fingers, baby; then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name,” Derek purrs into the curve of the boy’s ear, circling his hips as his mate makes the most delicious noises under him. “I can’t wait to have my fangs in your sweet, sweet neck... to have your blood on my tongue.”

Stiles' scent turns sharp, rich and musky. “God, that shouldn’t sound as hot as it does.” 

Derek chuckles darkly at Stiles’ groan of pleasure at his words. “I knew you’d be perfect for me.”

“Please, Der, do something,” Stiles whines and who is Derek to refuse such pleas?

Moving back onto his knees, he reaches for the waistband of Stiles’ boxers, making quick work of pulling them down his slim legs and throwing them over his shoulder.

He takes the opportunity to lean down and nose at the crease of the boy’s hip, taking in greedy breaths of his mate’s most concentrated scent. His head swims as if high on drugs, a shiver running down his spine, cock pulsing as it hangs heavy between his legs at the intoxicating smell. 

When he looks up, he knows his eyes are blue, his teeth a little too sharp to be human as the boy squirms under his intense gaze—the desire blazing from him at Derek’s slip of control. 

It takes him a moment to come back to himself, shaking his head to clear the fog before coating his fingers in slick, wasting no more time in circling them around the boy’s opening.

Stiles bucks at the cool touch, so Derek places his hand on his hip to keep him still as he works one thick finger inside his mate’s body. He has to stifle a groan as Stiles swallows him up, body desperate for more after the first few slides.

Derek isn’t sure how long it takes, but soon one finger becomes two, two becoming three and Stiles is writhing beneath him. He’s lost track of time as his mate begs so prettily, making Derek’s chest puff with pride at giving him so much pleasure. He’s cherishing the way Stiles’ legs have fallen open, forgetting any of his earlier reservations in favour of displaying himself fully as he rocks forward eagerly to meet every single one of Derek’s movements. He’s too caught up in bringing his mate ecstasy to care about the time. 

Derek’s taken to sucking the boy’s nipples while he fuck his fingers into him in abandon. The little nubs have long since become swollen and puffy, the whimpers he receives making him smirk against the abused flesh. 

He keeps a steady pressure on the boy’s sweet spot, the teen’s body glistening with sweat, muscles trembling as he cries out in bliss. “Please, I need- Oh, God, please fuck me.” 

The words go straight to Derek’s cock; his mates wrecked voice making his stomach clench as he holds himself back from just rutting into the boy. 

He removes his fingers, shushing his mate fondly as he whimpers, hole clenching on nothing, but he doesn’t stay empty for long. Derek arranges their position, curling the boy’s knees over his forearms, almost folding him in half, legs opening impossibly wider as he settles between them. He keeps his weight on his arms but covers his mate’s body with his own; the boy only wriggling slightly at the stretch. 

His wolf is snarling at him to hurry up, being this close to his mate, being this wrapped up in his scent, his touch, his _everything_ is already taking its toll on his control. He bites back the urge to sheath himself into the tight heat in one swift thrust, but he doesn’t, he manages to sink into him slowly, watching his mates expression closely for any signs of discomfort. 

It takes time until he’s buried to the hilt, going inch by torturous inch to give the boy’s body the chance to accommodate him. Derek’s fingers dig into the sheets as he pauses for breath. He’s never felt anything like it; the hot velvet walls constricting around him is giving him the overwhelming urge to pound into the boy without restraint.

His vision goes a little blurry, his instincts fighting to take over but he pushes them aside, growling under his breath as he begins to move at Stiles’ insistence. 

Stiles’ cock twitches against his stomach, dripping profusely as Derek drags across that delicate nub inside him on every few rocks of his hips. He’s clinging to Derek’s shoulders, the grip bruising if he could be marked as he’s filled completely, holding on as he gives over everything he has to Derek, submitting to him entirely. Derek doesn’t miss the slight tilt in his neck but stops himself from diving in lest he ends up going completely feral. 

Slowly rocking in and out of his mate, is indescribable. It’s like he’s drowning in sensation, too much but not enough. His wolf is howling, is burning hot with rage and arousal at his glacial pace. He wants to breed, wants to claim, wants to _mate_. He wants to see what noises he can pull from the boy beneath him other than breathy moans; he wants him to scream, to beg, to pass out with pleasure. He doesn’t wish to make love; he wants a fast, hard fuck. He wants animalistic, rough and brutal. He wants to _take_. 

Derek’s face must be doing something complicated, or perhaps it’s the tense line of his body as he forces himself to calm down. Either way, Stiles must notice something as his long, nimble fingers trace over his stubbled jaw, bringing his gaze to him.

“Not that this doesn’t feel incredible because it does, but you don’t need to hold back, Der. I can take it.” He looks deep into Derek’s eyes, assessing him—body and soul. “Just let go.”

Derek shakes his head, but the action is half-hearted even by his standards. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t...” Stiles smiles fondly. “But anyway, even if you did, I don’t mind a little pain.” The boy flashes him a filthy grin, heart steady with honesty. “Come on, wolfie, claim me... make me _yours_.”

The last of Derek’s restraint snaps at Stiles’ words. Snarling, he pulls out of his mate, ignoring the yelp of surprise as he flips the boy onto his stomach. He curls his fingers around his hips, squeezing with enough force to bruise as he manhandles him into a presenting position. He knees the boy’s thighs further apart, rumbling low in his throat as Stiles automatically arches his back inwards, displaying his ass further to Derek. 

Derek snakes one of his hands into the boy’s hair, tugging until Stiles’ neck bends back, evoking a pleasurable moan. He takes the opportunity to lick a stripe over the pale skin before moving close to his ear, fangs ghosting over the flesh as he growls. “_Mine.”_

“Yours,” Stiles pants, chest heaving as his heart races with excitement. “God, I’m all yours, Der.” 

Derek slams back into his mate, cock sliding home in one harsh thrust. The boy’s mouth hangs open on a silent scream, his legs trembling as Derek goes even deeper than before—as if he’s rutting right into his guts. 

Derek rips his hand from the boy’s hair, placing it in the middle of his shoulder blades, forcing him further into the mattress as he takes. His hips snap at a brutal pace, his supernatural strength and speed working to reduce the boy to an incoherent mess.

Stiles fists his hands into the sheets, holding on for dear life as his body is nearly jostled up the bed with the force of Derek’s thrusts. “Yes,” the boy hisses, unable to form any more words as he becomes a thrall to every sensation.

Derek loses himself, the sounds filling the room are wet and lewd, utterly primal. Stiles’ moans have turned into pornographic wails; Derek’s name and a litany of colourful curses falling warbled from his lips; even with his heightened hearing, Derek has to strain to make sense of them. 

“You’re so fucking perfect for me, letting me take what I want,” Derek slurs through his fangs, the words falling from his throat unbidden as the human part of him struggles to keep up—he’s almost all wolf. “You feel so good around me, baby... so fucking tight.” He can’t even concentrate on what he’s saying, but Stiles keens at the praise, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens against the sheets.

Derek feels drunk. He can’t explain it, only that the closer he gets to hurdling over the precipice, the more that euphoric fog infiltrates his mind.

The familiar blaze burns hot at the base of his spine, but it’s somehow ten times more inflamed. He’s close, but he wants his mates to fall apart first, wants to see him lose himself to the pleasure. 

He bends over his mates back, changing the angle so he hits that little bundle of nerves on every punch of his hips. His mate cries out, so close to breaking Derek can almost taste it. He just needs to let go. 

“That’s it, baby, come on my cock. Let me see you fall apart.” He tightens the clasp on the boy's hips, the copper tang of blood filling his nose as his claws pierce skin, but Stiles barely even registers, too busy tensing up in a desperate bid to fall over the edge. “Come for me, Stiles. _Come for me_.”

The boy sobs, his whole body shaking as his climax breaks over him like a crushing wave. His insides clench down as he paints the sheets below him, quivering as the pleasure coils through him at a dizzying velocity.

Derek rears his head back, howling into the sky before lunging forward to latch onto his mate’s neck, tearing into the skin at the dip of his shoulder.

Stiles screams, the sound cutting off to a broken moan when the tinge of pain gives over to white-hot euphoria, the second flame searing through him as the mating bond locks into place. 

The sweet taste of blood bursting across his tongue is what has Derek coming, one final punishing thrust and he’s emptying his release deep inside his mate.

His body convulses, muscles trembling at the intensity as he’s hit with the crippling sensations of finalising his claim. His vision is obscured with tendrils of white, stars dancing in the space behind his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath.

After a few moments, Derek releases his hold on the boy, letting his canines slip-free, the sharpened points receding back to blunt human edges. He laves his tongue over the mark, lapping up the red dripping from the wound until it heals over, the bright angry gashes turning raised and pink as they scar.

Stiles’ body falls lax beneath him, his mind having switched off in a temporary blackout as his human body processes the phenomenon. 

Derek doesn’t pull out of his mate, wanting to savour the feeling of being one with the boy for as long as possible but he does move them to their sides—a position more comfortable.

He curls himself around the teen’s back, hand stroking through his damp locks as he slowly comes back to consciousness.

“That... was fucking... incredible,” Stiles forces out, sounding utterly fuck-drunk and exhausted. 

“Mm-hm,” Derek hums in agreement, fingers caressing his mates flushed cheek. 

“So, have you made me yours?” 

“Yes,” Derek smiles into his mate’s shoulder, unable to disguise his elation; this wonderful, stunning boy is _his_. “You are mine, as I am yours... only _yours_.”

Stiles chuckles, his jubilant emotions passing through their bond, making Derek’s grin widen. “Do I have to bite you?”

Derek’s never really thought about it, but he knows it can be done. While wolves can heal their wounds, a mating bite will just scab over, then leave a permanent scar—much like the one Derek has given Stiles. “If you want too, but it’s not necessary.”

Stiles hums, thinking it through but decides rest is his priority. “Maybe another time, I don’t think I can move.”

Derek huffs a laugh, a smug smirk splitting his face.

“Smug asshole,” Stiles whispers, making Derek startle as he’s sure the boy can’t see his face... unless there’s a camera somewhere.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Stiles huffs. “Didn’t have too, I can _feel_ the smugness radiating off you.”

_Ah, the bond._

“Can you blame me?” Derek retorts, too far in his self-satisfaction to do anything but continue smirking.

“Hm, no, guess not.” Stiles’ voice is getting quieter and quieter, his breathing gradually evening out.

Derek runs his finger down the boy’s side, soothing him into serenity. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers into his mate’s ear before dropping his voice low. “I need you ready for round two.”

“Fuck...” Stiles groans but Derek doesn’t miss his spike of interest. “Give a guy a chance.”

“I am,” Derek gazes at his satisfied mate, his cock giving a valiant twitch. “You’ve got an hour.”

“Der, I think you broke me.” 

“I hope not,” Derek comments, amusement lacing his tone. “'cause I plan on making you come at least three more times tonight.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Stiles whines but Derek knows it’s all for show, especially with the way he subconsciously clenches down at Derek’s words.

Derek chuckles, wrapping his arms tightly around the boy’s chest, a bone-deep need to have him close, to keep him safe as he rests. “Ah, but what a sweet way to go.”

“Hm, yeah,” the boy agrees, squirming a little as he relaxes further into the bed, pushing back into Derek’s warm embrace, not bothered in the least that they're still joined. “I love you, sour wolf,” he mumbles into his pillow, sighing blissfully as he lets sleep take over him. 

“I love you too,” Derek whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to the boy’s cheek. He noses at his mate’s curls, letting the scent lull him into a tranquil peace, smiling fondly at the soft snores hitting his ears. “My perfect mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not do a sequel to this. I would love to explore the whole Chris and Peter thing with maybe a side of Scott and Allison. I’m not making any promises, but it’s on my mind. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this journey, it’s been nearly a year since I woke up from a dream about the plot for this fic, it’s been challenging, but I got there in the end. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and for giving me feedback, it’s really appreciated. Knowing you have enjoyed this has made it much more fun for me to write.
> 
> I will be back with more stories soon. Bye for now!


	18. Bonus Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some wonderful NSFW art I had commissioned especially for this fic. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for this piece goes to the artist. 
> 
> Go take a gander at her page on Instagram using the username @elfybits, she is absolutely amazing and deserves so much hype.
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a set schedule for updating this so I wouldn't watch it too closely. I have a full-time job, and this is just something I do when I have spare time—which isn't often. I'm also prone to getting writer's block or just genuinely becoming uninterested, but I promise I will finish it eventually—it might just take forever and a fortnight!
> 
> Not sure if I really need to disclaim this but I'll mention it anyway: I don't own anything to do with Teen Wolf, I am just borrowing characters, plot lines, location names etc and putting them into my own stories. It's very rare I stick closely to the storyline from the show in any of my fics, but on occasion, you may see some similarities. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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